


still turning out

by scoutshonour



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (super super brief though), Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming of Age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Feel-good, Fluff, Getting Together, Homophobic Language, Light Angst, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 23:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15896610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: Steve knows senior year's supposed to be tough, but seriously?Not only does his dad want him to take over his business, but he lands himself into a fight with his best friend leaving him friendless and booted out of his inner-circle, gets stuck watching a bunch of kids after school because of a missing credit, has torepeateleventh grade history, and, oh yeah. He has the minor issue of having no idea what he actually wants to do.But it's not all that bad: not the kids he has to watch, and certainly not Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers, two friends from his history class. Friends.Justfriends. Yeah, he and you both know that's bullshit.Steve's got a lot of figuring out to do.(or: HSAU Stoncy with Steve as a senior, doing his best)





	still turning out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [puddingandpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddingandpie/gifts).



> for puddingandpie!! homie, you're such a lovely person and like there's gotta be some correlation with how much i love this fic and you. i really liked this and i think you will too!! i hope i did our boy steve some justice and gave you a lotta sweetness and laughs, bc that's what you give me with your comments. ba-dum-tsssssssss my jokes are worse than his in this fic aha. am i roasting him or myself? (both)
> 
> also 30+k umm?? this is officially my longest one-shot. i didn't mean for this to be so long, but here we are!! set aside like an hour or two (??? is that a reasonable timeframe) and grab some tea or something!! i've never written from steve's POV, so this was fun to write!
> 
> title: turning out - ajr (what a relatable BOP check it out)

Steve’s absolutely not freaking out about his future.

Nope, nope, nope.

Here’s the thing: yesterday it might’ve been about his direction. His _lack_ of one. How he felt like everyone else was flying off towards something, in precise lines while he floated aimlessly in the air, trying not to crash into anything. How he literally had no idea where he’d be in a year: in Hawkins, school, or working. How at eighteen, he was expected to have it all figured out, when he hadn’t even figured out what _it_ was.

Up until that point, _it_  had been a vague, blurry image that horrified him.

Today, specifically tonight, as he sits in his room, the one space that is entirely _his,_ covered in posters of sports and cars and the most inappropriate poster of a model he could find that barelyescaped the wrath of his dad—he freaks out about something else.

Something defined, real, tangible. Something he can see, can see himself in, and _that_ is horrifying.

Let’s paint the picture.

Dinner. Kind of a rarity in their household considering how rarely his parents were home. There’s a lot of takeout spread out between Steve, his mother, and his father over the surface of their dining room table. The three are crowded in one corner of the long table, a dozen seats left empty save for three. His dad occupies the end of the table, Steve sitting to the right of his mother because he refuses to sit next to his dad.

Steve shoves his face with chilli chicken, unaware of the sauce dribbling down his cheeks. “Jeez,” he says to his mother, refraining from licking his fingers, “this Roberto’s? ‘Cause this is good. _Really_ good.”

“Obviously,” she says. “It is kind of a special occasion, isn’t it?”

Steve swallows, looking between his mom and dad. His dad sits there, with a generally uninterested expression, but she’s smiling. He can’t imagine why.

“You start your senior year tomorrow!” At the flat look he gives her, she adds, “Oh come on, that’s pretty special to me.”

Steve ducks his head, trying not to smile. “It’s only another school year,” he murmurs. Warmth spreads through him when his mother palms his face tenderly, thumb brushing a stray hair away from his forehead.  

“You’re going to have to cut that soon. Can’t have you running around next year looking like a girl.”

Steve clenches his jaw. Opens his mouth. Shuts it. It’d be _so_ easy to snap at his dad, tell him off, but he doesn’t want to ruin another dinner. It’s one of the few opportunities he gets to spend time with his mom since she’s busy at her law firm. He doesn’t want to ruin it for himself either. “Why? School's only care that I'm passing. ‘M not gonna fail ‘cuz of my hair, and seriously, who gives a—who _cares_ what other people would think, anyway?”

His dad scoffs. “What other people think matters if you’re interning at the business.”

Steve chokes on his spoonful of chicken. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice strained, “what was that?”

“Gotta get you started early since you’ll be taking over eventually. Lord knows you’re not gonna get a chance like this on your own.“

“Desmond,“ his mother glowers, a sharp edge to her voice.

At this point, Steve’s not even surprised by his dad and his level of indecency.

He shrugs, waving his fork. “What? I’m just saying the truth. Kid, you’re not gonna have that many opportunities going for you, so this is what you’ll be doing. You should be grateful. You’ve got your whole future lined up for you.”

There’s a _drop_ in his chest and a loud ringing in his ears. This is all news to him. Sure, internships have been offhandedly mentioned for summers, but nothing serious. Nothing like taking over his dad's business. Nothing like his entire fucking life mapped out for him without his say.

Steve can’t look either of them in the eye, so he stares at his plate half-filled, but even then it doesn’t do anything for the rising, nauseous feeling in his throat. He swallows thickly. “I should probably head up. I still smell like garbage from the game I played with Tommy earlier, so I should shower—and, and, sleep, obviously, gotta get up early and all.”

“Okay, honey,” she says, smiling up at him as he pushes out his chair. “I’ll wake you up before I leave. Sleep early, okay?”

Steve plasters on a smile. “Of course. Night, mom.” He presses a kiss to her forehead and adds as an afterthought, “Bye, dad.”

He nearly trips on his feet as he ascends the stairway, breathing heavily. He logically knows that the world isn't shaking, but the floor beneath him feels unstable.

His eyes cloud as he slams his door shut, leaning up against the wood and sliding to the floor. He can’t _think_ straight. All that he can think of is spending the rest of his life owning a _business_ he doesn’t give a shit about,following his father’s footsteps. Spending late nights away from his family, too many hours poring over spreadsheets and documents and cooped up in an office—

It’s when his eyes glaze over a picture he has on his nightstand does his throat stop constricting and the tightness in his chest eases. It's a picture of him and Tommy, from their eighth-grade graduation. Acne, braces, stupid hair: they were so young, knew nothing, but had each other. Kind of like now.

He focuses on the picture. On the lines of Tommy's smile, the brownness of his hair. Eventually, his breathing evens out and his heartbeat steadies. He lifts himself up onto his feet and falls face-first onto his bed.

_Fuck._

Just thinking about interning at his dad’s business firm makes him sick. He’s not sure what about it revolts him so much, but he’s pretty sure it’s how it’s all too similar to his Dad’s life that has him detesting it.

Because he doesn’t want to be his dad. Shitty dad, shitty husband, shitty _person._

But that just sends another round of chills down his spine as he wonders if he’s already becoming him anyway.

Sleep doesn't come easily.

* * *

The unease in his stomach still hovers the next day, carrying on through a night of restlessness and constant tossing and turning. The first day of school is bad enough without the internal conflict, thanks.

He gets called down to Guidance in the beginning of first period.

Steve’s face flushes as everyone stares at him. Attention isn't something he's unused to, but this kind of attention, he can do without.

Tommy whirls around from his seat in front of Steve. “The fuck did you do, man? It’s been less than an hour,” Tommy whispers—tries to, at least, voice reaching through the front of the room where their Math teacher scowls at him.

“ _Nothing!_ Besides, if I’d done anything serious they would’ve called me to the office, shit-stain.”

Tommy grins. “Course you’d know that.”

Steve bumps his shoulder against his on his way up. “Yeah, from all the times _you’ve—_ “

“Steve,” his teacher sighs, “Guidance is too busy to wait on you.”

He ignores the chuckles that ensue from his classmates, ruffling Tommy's hair as he passes his desk to the classroom door. He meant what he said: he’s done nothing wrong. There's not enough time for him to have done anything. His schedule doesn’t have any holes, either, so what gives?

Steve walks to the Guidance department and sits down at a seat by the receptionist’s desk, his leg bouncing up and down. He waits for maybe twenty minutes. The Guidance department _did_ have time to wait for him, didn’t they, Mr. Oprea—

One of the three doors behind the receptionist’s desk cracks open. His guidance counsellor, Ms. Dunbar's, head peaks through the crack.  “Steve?” Her voice is soft and silky, and he wonders if all guidance teachers have to sound like that.

He stands up. “Yes?”

“Come in, please.”

Steve hates this office. Not because its interior is ugly or anything—the lilacs by her photographs are stunning, don’t tell anyone he said that—but because he’s always filled with anxiety in this room from the handful of times he’s been seated across from Ms. Dunbar.

First time: for tenth grade course selections. He hated how she’d squinted up at the screen listing his grades, the slight frown that disappeared as quickly as it came. Steve noticed it anyway.

Second time: beginning of junior year. His parents—mom, really—wanted to have a chat about Steve’s future. See what he was strong in, what he has trouble with, and where they could go from that. Looking back, he wonders what the fuck the point of that was if _they_ decided for him.

Third time: towards the end of junior year. His grades dipped, and they gently told him that if he planned on going to any post secondary institutions, he’d have to basically haul ass.

See why he’s nervous now?

These four walls have been a constant reminder of _not good enough,_ of how he’s unprepared for the future, which he knows, okay? He knows. He doesn’t need someone to tell him that, doesn’t need to talk about it, either. He likes his bubble of ignorance. Or _liked_ it at least. Now, it feels like someone popped it and he's still falling to the ground.

“You okay there?”

He stops tapping his fingers against the armrest of the chair. “Yup. Just curious about why you wanted to see me. I know, I’m your favourite student and all, but c’mon. Gotta get my education, right?”

She flashes him a thin-lipped smile. “Of course, well, it _is_ important. Steve, you’re aware that you need certain courses to graduate? Four English credits, one language course, things like that?” She speaks slowly, hands intertwined in front of her.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“You’re missing an arts credit.”

Steve blinks owlishly. His heart stops for one second, until he laughs. “No, I’m not. I took Tech Design sophomore year.”

Ms. Dunbar grimaces. “Unfortunately, Tech Design isn’t considered an arts course.”

No, no, _no,_ this is not happening. “I’m sorry,” he says frantically, voice an octave higher, “tech _design,_ a class where we _design_ things, is not considered an arts course?”

“I see the irony, yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“A hundred percent.”

“That’s such bullsh—sorry, but it _is!_ How the fuck—I mean, how the _heck,_ oh, that didn’t sound any better, ew—“

“Steve,” Ms. Dunbar interrupts, a glimmer of amusement twinkling in her eyes. “It’s how it is and unfortunately I can’t change any part of that. You have a few options. You could replace one of your courses with an arts—“

“No!” Steve blurts out. “I don’t have any prerequisites, I’ll be stuck with fourteen year olds, I can’t—“

“Steve, I said option _s,_ didn’t I?”

He scratches the back of his neck, shrinking into his seat. “Sorry, please continue.”

“You could join choir or the drama club. But I do have one other option in mind that _could_ work, but I won’t tell you until I know for sure. Sleep on it, okay? If my idea doesn’t work, consider what grade nine course you’d prefer: music, visual arts, choir, or drama. It’s not ideal, but it could be fun. It could also relieve some stress from your workload.”

Steve sighs. He wants to get angry, wants to snap at how the school only notified him _now,_ rather than last year, but he’s exhausted. He didn't get much sleep last night. He can barely keep his eyes open.

But there’s also the apology in Ms. Dunbar’s smile too. She didn’t put Steve in this stupid situation. He’s not going to blow up at her for something that’s probably his fault.

“Okay, thanks for your time. Will you call me back in sometime this week?”

“Yes, we will. Have a nice day, Steve.”

He smiles, even though it uncomfortably stretches his mouth. He doubts he will, but at least there’s no way for this day to get worse.

* * *

Here’s how it gets worse.

His friends have always been extroverted. Loud, noisy, full of energy. _Usually,_ Steve doesn’t find it annoying because he's like that himself. But shoulders slumped, trying to blink the exhaustion from his eyes as he keeps shutting them, ready to fall into a peaceful bout of sleep, he wants to kill them.

“—and then, Steve, _Steve,_ are you _listening_ to me—“

He grips the corners of his lunch tray, reluctantly opening his eyes. “No shit I’m listening to you, I have no choice because you’re screaming in my _ear,_ asshole!”

Tommy shoves his arm. _Hard._

Steve closes his eyes once more, breathing in deeply.

“What’s your problem, dude? Didn’t know you got your period today.”

A round of laughter bursts at their table. Steve’s being hypocritical, he knows, because he’s made the joke and laughed at it before but seriously? Are they twelve year-olds?

“I’ll shove my used tampon up your ass then,” he grumbles. It’s a stupid thing to say, but he’s so irritated, his mind refuses to work.

Tommy raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Kinky.”

“Your existence is bothering me.”

“C’mon, Stevie, let's go for a walk. Something’s bugging you and I’ll get it out of ya.”

Steve lets Tommy pull him up to his feet, appreciating the newfound softness in his voice. Tommy can be a dick—no, he _is_ a dick, but he cares. Steve knows it, even if he has trouble showing it.

Mark Jackson whistles. “Aw, you gonna take care of Steve, Tommy? I bet I know what you’re going to do to make him feel better.”

Tommy throws a french fry at him and rolls his eyes. “Why, you wanna watch?”

Steve yanks on Tommy’s arm because this shit will take forever.

“I know just the thing to lift your spirits.”

For a moment, Steve’s relieved. This terrible yanking on his heart, the constant drop in his stomach since last night will cease. This’ll pass. It’ll all be okay because his best friend will do something stupid to make him laugh and forget about all his worries.

The moment passes when Tommy walks over to a table where one person sits and swipes the camera from in front of him.

Steve's stomach _twists_.

“No way this is yours,” Tommy says. He hops onto the table, directly next to the person.

Steve should walk away. He shouldn’t say anything. What the fuck makes now different anyway? What, he’s suddenly better because he’s having a stupid crisis over a career that’ll be given to him?

No. No, he's not. But fuck it, he can't get over how nauseous he feels.

Steve walks up until he’s standing next to Tommy and sees the person. It’s Jonathan Byers, a junior. This isn’t the first time they’ve pulled this shit on him and that thought makes his stomach churn.

Jonathan doesn’t respond. His entire body clenches, stiffer than usual, but he only stares at his tray.

“C’moooon, answer me. You're being very rude right now. Besides, I’m probably the only person outside your family that’s ever talked to you. Right? That probably explains the lack of manners, actually."

No response. 

Steve pulls Tommy's shoulder. “Dude, c’mon. This isn’t—he’s not taking the bait. What’s the point?”

Tommy slaps his hand away, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’m catching up with a friend here, man. What’s your deal?”

“My _deal_ is you’re being a dick for no reason.” He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he does know that Tommy’s aggravating the hell out of him and that Jonathan Byers has much more patience than Steve ever will.

“Real rich coming from you. You know what a hypocrite is?”

“I know what a piece of shit is.”

They’ve always bantered like this, but with grins and playful shoves. Now, he’s drawing near Tommy and his eyes flash.

Tommy glares and shoves his chest, sending Steve backwards. People must be watching now, King Steve and his second in command Tommy brawling, over a nobody, no less. But he doesn’t care.

“Why are you defending this fucking faggot?”

The word splices through him. Does he have to be vile? Period jokes, slurs...who has Steve been associating with all his life?

“One second,” Steve says, raising his index finger. He’s going to regret this. He’s going to do the dumbest thing he’s ever done, and that’s saying something.

He turns to Jonathan, gesturing to his tray. “Can I borrow this for a sec?”

Jonathan nods, for the first time meeting his eyes. Steve’s so taken aback he stands there stupidly for a few seconds, before clearing his throat. He grabs the tray and whacks the living hell out of Tommy’s face.

Maybe Steve should worry about why it feels kind of good. He rationalizes it as a release, releasing the anxiety from thoughts of owning a business he doesn’t care about, about the arts credit situation, about how he’s starting to hate his friends and himself for being as shitty as them.

Well. It feels good until Tommy’s fist smashes into his face.

Steve hits the floor, gasps from bystanders sounding the cafeteria louder than his own startled, choked gasp. Pain explodes in the right side of his face and the taste of copper floods his mouth. He curls up, bracing for another hit.

Except there’s nothing.

He sits up, hissing at the pounding in his head, and holy shit.

 _Jonathan_ _Byers_ holds Tommy back, effortlessly pinning him up against a wall. “Calm down,” he says coolly.

Tommy thrashes wildly, his face dripping with crimson. “Get the _fuck_ off me, Jesus, stop—stop—“

“You’re going to hit him again.”

“You’re a pervert, you know that? God, I see the family resemblance now, with you and your dad, can't imagine what that makes your freshman brother then, tell me, is he as—“

 _Wham!_ Jonathan’s calm demeanour is gone as his fist flies into Tommy’s face. Tommy tries to hit him back, but Jonathan easily catches him and holds him in place.

Steve rises to his feet and ignores how badly everything stings. The world tilts from underneath his feet. He should sit down, but of course, he doesn't. “Tommy, Tommy stop, what’re you doing—“

“Fuck you, if you had a hard-on for Byers you didn’t have to hit me over it.”

“Me? You obviously have one, if you’re picking on him all the time!”

Shit.

Newfound adrenaline seems to pump through Tommy's veins as he wretches free out of Jonathan’s grasp and sails onto Steve, knocking them both on the floor.

Tommy gets one or two punches in before Steve gets  _pissed_. Furious, both at Tommy, at his dad, at everything. He growls and fights through the searing in his face, rolling on top of Tommy.

Fingers dig into his shoulders. “Steve,” Jonathan says, and Steve tenses up only to be calmed by the smooth, soft voice in his ear, “stop.”

He sits up, breathing heavily. He’s hit with a wave of calm and wipes his blood-ridden face. What's happening really sinks in. His classmates surround them, phones and gasps abundant, eyes following him. There's blood on the floor, his knuckles, on his face. His best friend bleeds from underneath him.  _Jonathan_ _Byers_ still has his hands on his shoulders and Steve finds himself leaning into his touch as he sighs. 

"I'm done."

“Fuck. The both of you.” Tommy exhales. A flicker of a smile spreads across his mouth. He pulls the camera up from around his neck and drops it with a horrifying crash.

Steve punches him without thinking. Of course that’s when a teacher walks in.

* * *

“But he called Byers a fag.”

“But he hit me first!”

“ _You_ provoked me!”

“You broke my face! And school property, you inconsiderate shit!”

“Bitch, your face broke school property! _And_ you used homophobic language, who gives a flying fuck about school propert—“

Their principal coughs. “Gentlemen,” he says tiredly, looking between Steve and Tommy. “Stop speaking over each other. Jonathan, tell me what happened.”

Steve looks at Jonathan, and really looks at him. Never in a million years would he expect that type of strength from him. His eyes glance over his arms, his legs, and he’s _so_ skinny. How did he throw that kind of punch? Then he trails over his face, his cheekbones, soft skin, and his eyes that tentatively look over at their principal. Jonathan recounts what happened, and when he finishes by detailing how Tommy broke his camera, his voice cracks and he stares down at his hands.

“Tommy, is this true?”

“I was trying to give it back, but it slipped from my hands!”

“Do you think we’re fucking idiots, you dumb sack of—“

“Steve. No profanity. And stop interrupting him!”

“Sir,” Steve tries again, “with all due respect, Tommy is a conniving little—little…what’s a synonym for little shit?”

“He said no profanity, you dumbass.”

Steve cranes his head to glare at Tommy. “Good, so you _are_ as stupid as you look. I've always wondered."

Tommy grounds his teeth. “ _Sir,_ Byers bruised my hands! When he had them behind my back, he was holding way too tightly. That’s why it slipped.”

“Horseshit!”

“Your _mom_ —“

“Steve, Jonathan, _out_. Tommy, stay. Let’s do this one at a time.”

Steve avoids Tommy’s eyes on his way out, dropping defeatedly onto one of the chairs. There are only three seats by the principal’s office and Jonathan takes the one furthest away.

“You didn’t. You didn’t have to do that.”

Steve blinks. He stops slouching, canting his head towards Jonathan. “What?”

“That whole hero act, you didn’t have to," Jonathan says quietly.

“Who says I did it for you? Maybe I only wanted to punch Tommy in face. Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to do that.”

Jonathan's mouth twitches ever so slightly, still enough to light up his otherwise blank face. 

“I’m sorry about your camera," Steve apologizes, unable to keep from being guilty. 

“ _You_ didn’t break it.”

“He only broke it to spite you ‘cuz he was pissed you’re stronger than him. You wouldn’t have to have held him back if I hadn’t hit him in the first place. Speaking of, how are you _that_ strong?”

Jonathan shrugs and fiddles with his fingers. He looks away again. “I’m...used to aggressive people.”

A knot forms in Steve’s stomach. Hawkins is small; Byers. Sr is a known drunk. He’s also known for packing his shit up and leaving his wife and two kids, and now he doesn’t know what to say.

“Shit,” Steve says intelligibly.

“Not as shitty as your face right now.” Jonathan’s eyes widen, like he hadn’t meant to let that slip.

Steve scoffs and hopes it masks his surprise at the fact that he actually cracked a joke. “It is not as bad as Tommy’s.” Steve grins, starts to lean over to nudge him, but stops half-way.

Jonathan's face cracks into a slight smile as his shoulders droop. “Fair enough.” 

A blanket of silence falls over them. “Hey, man,” he says slowly, his voice breaking, “I know this doesn’t make up for the shit I’ve done and let happen, but—“

“Stop,” Jonathan interrupts. Steve’s blood runs cold. “It does make up for it.”

The principal’s door opens then and Steve’s name is called. He’s too flabbergasted to respond, smiling on his way in even though it hurts.

* * *

It’s decided that Steve and Tommy will serve a week’s detention, separately. The principle ate up that shit about the camera slipping from Tommy’s hands, so no extra punishment for him. Jonathan rightfully faces no punishment.

They miss part of fourth period. Steve not only will be late to his eleventh grade history class because he failed the course last year, a course he needs to graduate, but will walk in with bruises painted across his face and the fight no doubt on everyone's mind. Great. 

He notices Jonathan walking towards the same hall as him and asks, “What d’ya have right now?”

“History with Bryant. You?”

Not only will he have seen Steve’s ass handed to him, but he’ll see his stupidity in full swing. “Same,” he says, cringing. “Least I won’t be the only person they’re all staring at.”

“But I’m not bruised.”

“Yeah, but you held Tommy back. He couldn’t even get a hit in. You don’t think the entire school’s not going to know by now?”

Jonathan further pales. His mouth opens but no sound escapes him.

“Dude, don’t worry, it’ll be old news by tomorrow. People will care more about how Tommy and I fought each other, anyway. Sorry. No offense.”

“I really don’t care if they’ll be talking about me or not, I just don't want their attention. But I guess they'll be looking at you and your deformed face more than they will me."

"My face is still gorgeous, don't even deny it."

They reach their classroom, the last one down the hall and the door shut. “Can’t be any worse than what happened in the cafeteria,” Steve grumbles, mostly to himself.

“It’s _history,_ though.”

Steve’s so startled that on his first step into the classroom, he laughs loudly.

The class stops and stares, naturally as people would with such an interruption. But then they register that it’s Steve and Jonathan, along with the mess of bruises swelling everywhere on Steve's face. Everyone's eyes glue to them and the class breaks out in scandalized whispers. 

“Take your seats, gentlemen,” Ms. Bryant says, wincing when her eyes rake over Steve. He doesn't blame her.

He doesn’t mean to trip over himself on his way to the only two empty seats in the classroom, but he does. It's not because the fight affected his coordination, or that he wasn't looking where he was going, or something was in the way.

It was because of _her._

Nancy something, he recalls from the back of his head. He’s seen her around, but not like this, not upfront. Especially not her amused smile, her striking blue eyes, her _teeth_ grazing her bottom lip, oh God—

“‘Cause of the fight, obviously,” he mumbles, dusting his pants off as he stands up.

Nancy's smile slowly unfolds. “Sure it was."

Steve nearly falls again when she speaks. Her voice is smooth, and oh, _oh,_ she knows she’s why he tripped. She's also grinning, slyly lifting an eyebrow.

He smiles at her, even though it hurts, but looking at her makes it worth it.

“Umm, Steve. I need you to stop—stop whatever that is so I can sit,” Jonathan says over his shoulder.

“And so we can continue our class,” Ms. Bryant says in a clipped tone.

Steve coughs, “Right,” and shuffles to the seat behind Nancy—score!

Jonathan follows behind him, taking the seat next to Steve.

Ms. Bryant resumes her class, going over the course outline, but he’s not listening. He tries to, at first, but gets distracted by Nancy and stares at the back of her head.

 _Finally,_ he sighs internally, one good thing about his day.

But then his eyes glance over to Jonathan. Actually, maybe two good things.

* * *

Steve avoids going back to his house for a few hours until he knows his mom will be back from work. His dad scares him when he’s angry. He hasn’t hit him in years, not since Steve was a child and didn't have the same height he does today, but Steve’s not taking any chances with how colossally shitty his day has been. His mom eventually texts him and he drags himself back home. He'll be okay if she's there.

It’s not as bad as he expects. He sits through his mother’s lecture, ignores everything his dad says, and promises not to pull a stunt like that again.

He falls asleep a little easier what with how tired he is and with the partially reassuring thought that no matter how terrible tomorrow is, he won't ever have to go through this day again.

* * *

His face throbs even worse the next day, but he pops a Tylenol and hopes for the best. First period, he and Tommy don’t look at each other. It could be worse. He expected some backlash, bullshit for his stunt the other day, but silence is all he receives. He doesn't expect this empty feeling in his chest. He doesn't know what to do about that.

People stare, what with how wrecked his face is, ugly purple miscolouring his cheeks, and his public falling out with Tommy. He can take it. He took that hell of a beating the other day and he decides nothing will ever be worse than that.

Lunch is a bit of an issue.

When he arrives in the cafeteria, he eyes his usual table. His friends glare at him and Mark pointedly drops his backpack on the one empty seat where he would usually be.

He already figured this much. No one texted or called him. Whatever. He can drive off elsewhere, even chill in the parking lot until lunch finishes.

But he spies a place where he could sit and walks over determinedly before he can change his mind. Fuck it. It’s not like he has a reputation left to lose.

“Byers, can I sit?”

Jonathan flinches, visibly startled. “It’s not my table.”

Steve snorts with his predictability, sliding onto the seat across from him. “Thanks. So you’ve got a whole table to yours—“ Steve stops when he realizes Jonathan has put earbuds in. Oh. It shouldn’t sting, but it does.

* * *

“Your face is purple.”

Steve lazily smiles at the sound of Nancy Wheeler’s—he checked his yearbook last night—voice. There’s five minutes until class starts, and yes, Steve only came early because of Nancy.

He inches to the edge of his seat, his heart thudding when her eyes briefly drop to his lips. “You wanna feel it?”

“Kinda. But you’re going to be in pain.”

He shrugs as suavely as possible. “I can take—ow, motherfucker!”

Nancy laughs. “You don’t have to put yourself through that to impress me. Testosterone-fueled violence is not a turn-on.”

Steve wouldn’t correct her if she was right, but she isn’t, and he doesn’t want to look like some douchebag. He isn’t. At least not for this. “You think I punched my best friend ‘cuz of some toxic masculinity?”

Nancy purses her lips. “Rumours vary. Some say you cheated on Tommy with Jonathan. Others that it’s some kind of kink. I’m going with the most logical one.”

“Tommy was being a dick to Byers, so I decked him.”

“No way.”

That hurts. Steve’s face crumbles and he tries not to let it show. “That’s really hard to believe?”

Nancy’s eyes widen, her hands frantically waving in front of her. “That’s not—it’s just—you and your friends aren’t ever nice to him. It’s fair for me to be shocked.”

“I guess.” He slumps in his chair, lowering his eyes. She must think he’s a huge jerk. There's no point in bothering her anymore.

“You wanna know the stupidest rumour I’ve heard so far?”

Steve’s eyes light up and he sits back upright, his mouth twitching into a smile. “Better be worse than the one about me and Tommy’s drug cartel.”

“Dammit, you already heard that one!”

“Who do you think _started_ it?”

Nancy laughs again, hugging her arms around the back of her chair. “Tell me, Steve Harrington, what was it really?”

“Hmm? I told you.”

She shakes her head. “What made you finally snap? What made this time any different?”

Nancy looks at him and it's like she sees everything. He feels transparent, bare, somewhat  _naked_  in front of her. “I just—I don’t want to be that guy anymore.”

“Who do you want to be?”

“Someone—someone better.”

Nancy’s smile slowly spreads across her mouth. “Good. You’re too cute to be an asshole.” It’s like she timed it, because the first bell goes off, the one signalling five minutes to get to class, and their teacher walks in. Nancy spins around and Steve stares at her bare neck, grinning like a fool.

“Steve?” Ms. Bryant calls out. “You’re wanted in Guidance.”

Nancy cranes her head, narrowing her eyes. “What did you do?”

“No—excuse me! I _am_ trying to be better. They only call you to the office if you’re in trouble and yes, I do have experience to know that, but redemption does start with being terrible first!”

“Steve," his teacher says exasperatedly, "they don’t have all day."

“They have twenty minutes,” he mumbles.

* * *

“I have to teach children?”

“You really only have to monitor them. Teaching is what we'll say on your transcript. Watch them. Give advice. Be a mentor of sorts. Drama club should be fun.”

“How many kids?”

“Six. All freshmen and all good friends with each other. Its twice a week for an hour and a half. This is the most ideal option for you, Steve. I strongly recommend you take it.”

He exhales a breath of relief. This is good, this is manageable, _this_ he can work with. “Thank you, Ms. Dunbar. Thank you so much.”

“You start tomorrow.”

* * *

He shouldn’t be nervous over a handful of children, and yet here he is, pacing back and forth in front of the school’s drama room. Steve can't stay still, can't stop playing with his hands, and can't stop thinking about whether him saying  _yo_ would make him seem approachable or incredibly lame. 

“Steve,” Ms. Dunbar says, and he turns around mid-pace. “Meet your kids for the year. Mike, Will, Max, Lucas, Dustin, and Jane.”

“Hi, it’s nice to—“

The six freshmen dart right into the drama room without a second glance.

Ms. Dunbar pats his shoulder with a smile. “They’re really eager to get started. If you need anything, I’m in Guidance, and the drama teacher is in the cafeteria with the senior club.”

He runs a hand through his hair and walks in. Two boys rearrange the chairs, two girls and a boy raid the prop room past the hallway where the shoes are left, and one boy fiddles with the lights.

They seem to know what they’re doing. What, Steve’s just supposed to watch them for the rest of the year?

“Umm. Hey guys.”

“Hey,” they chant, continuing their tasks.

He clears his throat and tries to get rid of the lump lodged there. “I thought we’d play like, some name-game activity or something. Get acquainted.”

A red-haired girl furrows her eyebrows as she carries two plastic swords into the room. “Why? We already know each other.”

“No, I know, it’s just so I can know who you guys are.”

“Name games are boring,” one tall, lanky boy complains, dragging a chair into the room’s centre.

The smaller boy with doe-eyes shoots him a look. “He wants to get to know us! If we’re stuck with him for a year—“

“What do you mean _stuck with_ —“

“We might as well get to know him.”

They share secretive looks, their faces carrying a conversation that Steve can't decipher, before one announces with a lisp, “We’ll play your dumb game.”

“I mean, I also had some markers and paper for name tags if you guys—“

“Fuck yes, I haven’t coloured since fifth grade,” the same boy continues.

So they form a circle on the floor, paper and markers spread out in front of them. “How’s high school so far?” Steve says conversationally, drawing the world’s lumpiest basketball.

The kid—Steve looks at his name tag, _Lucas_ —makes a fart noise. 

“Accurate,” Steve says. 

Lanky Boy who’s too far away for Steve to read his name-tag groans, “I keep seeing my sister. This stupid school put the grade nine’s they couldn’t make space for near the juniors, so I keep seeing her dumb face. I _hate_ her face.”

Lisp Kid— _Dustin,_ Steve recalls—says, “I like her face.”

“What the _fuck_ did you just say about my sister?”

“I like your sister,” Jane says, colouring Max’s nametag for her. He’s definitely going to know their names by the end of today. “She’s cool. And I don’t mind seeing my brother.”

Lanky Boy scoffs, pointing a marker at her. “‘Cuz your brother does shit for you, when my sister makes me want to rip my hair out.”

“I wish she’d rip my hair out.”

“Dustin, I’ll kill you.”

Steve watches them with amusement, laying his feet out in front of him. “I think I like you guys.”

Lucas caps his marker shut and says, “Jury’s still out on you.”

* * *

The days that follow are weird. Steve never noticed how much livelier his days were thanks to his friends, to Tommy, but that absence is glaringly there. He sits with Jonathan at lunch everyday, having given up any chances of awkward small talk. Flirts with Nancy during History. Spends every Wednesday and Friday after school with the kids, watching their improv.

But there’s so much time in between, so much time on weekends and after school, time he doesn’t know what to do with. 

He’s not alone, but he’s lonely. So, terribly lonely.

* * *

“First marks of the semester. Exciting, isn’t it?” Ms. Bryant says from the front of the room while waving a stack of papers.

 _No,_ Steve thinks, anticipating the low number that’s bound to be on the paragraph answers they submitted two days ago.

He doesn’t bother flipping his page open, letting it sit on his desk.

Nancy whirls around in her seat. “How’d you do?”

“Not checking.”

“C’mon, how’re you gonna improve if you don’t know where you’re at?”

He gingerly takes his paper and flips it over, wincing at the red sixty at the top. Comments are scribbled over the sheet but he doesn’t look at them, knowing it’ll worsen his mood.

“Sixty,” he grumbles before she asks.

She frowns. “You’re really struggling with this course, aren’t you? I can...I can help you, if you want.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What’s in it for you?”

“I like kindness?”

He leans forward, slowly grinning. “I think you just like me.”

Nancy leans forward too and gently brushes a finger over a bruise on his cheek. “Now Tommy must’ve really hit you hard on your head for you to think that. We’re _studying,_ Steve. Nothing else.”

He closes his eyes for a second when her finger tenderly trails down his face. “‘S that why you’re still touching my face?”

She doesn't pull away, but her smile is one of embarrassment. “Maybe I pity you.”

She’s joking, but Steve still falters. “King Steve’s only taking a hiatus.”

Nancy looks into his eyes, a clear shift from playful to serious. “You really want to be that guy again?”

There's something patronizing in her tone that bothers him. He doesn't want her looking down on him and he doesn't know why he _cares_ about what she thinks of him, when he's known her for all of two seconds, but he does. Right now, it feels like she doesn't think much and that bothers him even more. “You don’t...you’re not my life coach, Nance. I don’t need your moral superiority.” 

“Moral...Steve, I’m not trying to be condescending. I like this version better. I think you like this one better too," she says softly, and he turns into mush.

Steve smiles ruefully, the strain of his cheeks irritating his bruises. “This one has zero friends and a broken face.” It comes out too flat to be played off as a joke.

Nancy brushes a stray strand of hair out of his face. “You’ve got one friend," she corrects. 

His heart thrums in his chest and he wants to hold this moment in his hands: her gentle smile, how soothing her finger against his is, how genuine she sounds. "Here I thought you didn't like me," he teases.

Nancy shrugs, pulling her hand away. "You're getting to me. You're persistent, you are."

"I don't bother people, though. I talk to people who wanna talk to me."

"Thought we established that I pity you, Harrington?"

"Thought _you_ established that you're my friend, Wheeler?"

"Shut up," Nancy says, swinging around, her ponytail swaying behind her. That's how he knows he's won.

* * *

“You want some?”

Steve looks up from his phone, startled by Jonathan’s voice. He eyes the container of brownies in his extended hand. “Your mom make that?”

“Sister.”

Steve takes a small brownie and shoves it in his mouth. “I’m surprised you can speak, after that first day," he manages out through a mouthful of brownie, surely flattering to Jonathan who's lower lip slightly curls up at the sight.

He shrugs and avoids Steve's gaze, staring at his lap instead. “I’m not surprising as you are.”

“But you’re pretty surprising. You decked Tommy.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah, but I’m _me._ You’re...you.”

He raises his head, effectively stealing Steve’s breath when he meets his eyes. They’re so bold and like Nancy, it feels like Jonathan sees Steve and sees everything. He hasn't decided if he likes it or not.  “Who would that be, exactly?”

“Cool, loner-by-choice, WWE fighter, Jonathan Byers.”

This makes him smile. “Interesting perception. Don’t think anyone’s called me cool before. Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“How much gel do you put in your hair? ‘Cuz that’s ridiculous.”

Steve laughs, the sound deep and rich from his belly. People stare, but he’s too concerned with how genuine Jonathan’s question is and how his surprised, half-smile is beautiful.

* * *

“Steve, focus.”

“Nance, I _am,_ I just want to know if they had gel back then, because look at this guy’s hair! No way it sticks up like that on its own.”

She rolls her eyes, but humours him. “It was probably sweat or something. These people didn’t wipe their asses after they took a shit, you think they cared about their hair?”

Steve snorts while taking a swig of his water bottle. He and Nancy sit next to each other with books sprawled out in front of them at their local library, conveniently placed next to their school. “Study break?”

“Steve," she says firmly.

“Nance.”

Nancy sighs, slamming their shared-textbook shut. “Your puppy eyes bother me.”

“Your eyes...don’t bother me? You have nice eyes, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

She chuckles, looking up at him. “How on earth have you had so many girlfriends?”

Steve smirks. “You’ve been keeping track of me?”

Red sweeps up Nancy's neck and she avoids looking at him, absolutely adorable when flustered. “No, you’re just the talk of the town. I probably know your postal code from how much people talk about you.”

He twitches uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to think about how he _was_ the talk of the town. Now, he’s nothing. It’s petty shit, but it was only a few weeks ago where it was everything. He can’t help but miss how much easier everything was, but honestly?

He doesn’t regret hitting Tommy.

“People don’t really care anymore, do they?”

“ _You_ shouldn’t care if they do or don’t.” Nancy frowns, looking out the window, then back at him. “You have a car, right?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Let’s go eat.”

Steve takes her to this diner his mom used to take him to when he was younger. 

“So,” Nancy says, wiping her chin with a napkin. Fries, burgers, and one milkshake—Nancy’s idea not his—sit between them and their booth in the back of the establishment. “Are you friends with Jonathan Byers?”

Steve searches her tone for a hunger for gossip or something nasty, but there’s only curiosity. “Guy’s hard to read. I’d call him my friend, but I don’t think he’d call me his.” He recalls their conversation from earlier today and hopes that maybe, some day soon, he will.

“He’s my English partner for this project and he’s so quiet. I know there’s something there, but I can’t find it.” She huffs, and a lightbulb lights up in Steve's head.

He gasps and points a french fry at her. “You’re into him.”

Nancy flushes. “Am not.”

“You so are.” He pushes his face up on his elbows, smiling widely. “Nance, you wound me. Thought we had something special here.”

Nancy throws a french fry at him and hits him square on the nose. “You’re the one who defended his honour. Shouldn’t I be telling you that you’re into him?”

He flings the same fry back at her. “Out of the kindness of my heart. I’m not into Jonathan. You are. You fantasize about his hot, hot body, don’t ya?”

She hits him directly in the eye with another one, scoffing with a wide grin. “You just called him hot!”

“I’m impersonating you!”

Nancy arches an eyebrow, leaning forward with an amused look. “I see right through you, Steve Harrington.”

He smiles, ducking his head to hide his blush. He thinks he’s okay with that.

Nancy pelts him with a handful of fries then and five minutes later, they’re kicked out.

* * *

At the end of September, Steve waits anxiously for Ms. Bryant to return their tests, bouncing his leg up and down to the point where his desk shifts.

Nancy looks over her shoulder as if sensing his nervousness. “You’ll be great. You have the world’s best tutor.”

“I should’ve spent more time on the Depression! That multiple choice hurt my heart deeply and I guessed, like, five of them. I'm fucked."

Ms. Bryant walks by and briskly drops the stack of sheets on his desk without a word.

Nancy stares impatiently, gesturing her head to his test.

Fuck it. He flips it over and his relief is palpable as he tries not to shriek with glee. “Nance, Nance, eighty! I got an eighty!”

She beams, looking so proud that Steve’s heart melts, and casts her eyes over to Jonathan. “And you?”

He freezes when Nancy and Steve both stare at him and gnaws on his lower lip almost anxiously. “I passed,” he says flippantly. His shoulders lower and Steve can almost feel the tension pouring out.

Nancy rolls her eyes. “You probably got, like, a ninety-five.”

“Least I’m not going to complain about a ninety-eight like someone.”

“I misused one semicolon and she deducts a _full mark!_ ”

Steve laughs, semi-surprised by this interaction. Nancy must’ve gotten through to him. “Dude,” he says, looking over to Jonathan, “you’re so accurate. I hate being friends with a genius sometimes.”

She flicks his ear. “You hate your eighty, huh?”

“If you were really good, I’d have a ninety, wouldn’t I?”

Jonathan’s voice slightly shakes as he says, “No one’s that good," while looking Steve in the eye. Progress, he thinks a little excitedly.

Nancy’s laughter rings through his ears and it must be one of the most pleasant things he’s ever heard in his life.  

Steve gasps, placing a hand over his heart. “I defend your honour, and this is my thanks?”

He rolls his eyes. “I thought we proved that I could handle myself, and I didn’t ask—“

“Byers, I’m physically wounded, I’m going to die of literal heartache.“

Nancy grins at Jonathan, arching an eyebrow. “He’s so extra, isn’t he?”

“Extra _hot,_ you mean.”

“No, Nancy means extra annoying.”

Ms. Bryant pointedly clears her throat and the three whip their heads to the front. “If you’re all finished,” she says curtly, staring each of them down, “I’d like to start taking up this test.”

Nancy throws them both a sheepish smile before staring up at the front.

Steve grins at Jonathan, chest even lighter when he smiles back.

That’s kind of how it starts.

* * *

The kids and Steve have established a nice relationship. Steve laughs at their improv and they pull the most ridiculous, funny shit he’s ever seen. Who knew fourteen year old’s were comedic geniuses?

That’s why he’s confused, walking into the classroom during the beginning of October to see the kids sprawled out on the floor with their textbooks in front of them.

Steve frowns and loudly exclaims, “No, no, where’s my free entertainment?”

“Up your ass,” Lucas hisses, before sighing and slumping face-first onto the floor. “I’m sorry. I don’t fully mean that. I’m so tired. Please tell me it gets better after ninth grade.”

Steve avoids that last part. He positions himself in between Mike and Will. “What’s the work?”

“Math,” they groan.

“We were all so excited to be in the same math class,” Will sighs, staring at his textbook with a scowl and throwing an eraser at it.

Max flings her pencil across the room, everyone except for her flinching at the way it slams against the wall. “This subject is stupid. I’m going to break something. Or someone.”

Lucas inches away from her at that.

“My hair’s gonna fall out from this stress. I’ll be bald by eighteen. I’m going to have to wear a wig,” Dustin moans.

Steve nervously gazes at each of them, at how anxiety-ridden and stressed they all are. He gets it; ninth grade was _so_ overwhelming. “How about we take a break? And, uhh, talk about our feelings about school?”

They boo him and Jane throws a crumpled ball of paper at his nose.

"No one wants to talk about their feelings," Jane says placidly.

“You’re all stressed! C’mon. We can talk about life and shit.”

Will hums thoughtfully, closing his textbook and sitting upright. “Why is high school so difficult?”

Steve thinks about it, but nothing meaningful comes to mind. “Preparation for the real world, I guess. It really can’t get worse than this, can it?”

“I miss sleep,” Mike complains. “Last night I only got seven and a half hours!”

Steve laughs into the back of his hand, trying to muffle the sound. These kids are too damn cute, and he desperately doesn't want them to be further scathed by these halls. “I can’t remember the last time I slept for that long on a school day.”

“You said it wouldn’t get worse!”

“Lucas, I ignored your question!”

There’s a gentle rap on the door, and Steve jumps up to his feet and jogs to the door, already knowing none of these dip-shits will get it themselves. “Coming!”

Colour Steve fucking bewildered when he sees Jonathan, whose eyebrows are furrowed and mouth hung open similarly to him. “Steve?”

“Jonathan? What’re you doing here?”

“Picking up my siblings. We’ve got somewhere to be. What’re you doing here?”

“ _Watching_ your siblings, apparently. Hold on, which one of you fuckers are related? How has this not come up?”

Will, Mike, and Jane run up to Steve’s side with their backpacks.

Steve balks uselessly, eyeing the three of them with confusion. “How are you all siblings? You look nothing alike to be triplets.”

“These two are step siblings, and Mike’s not my brother, he’s Nancy’s. I give him rides home sometimes."

“What?  _You’re_ Nancy’s brother?”

Mike narrows his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “How do you know my sister?”

Right when Steve's about to blurt that he only knows her from class, Jonathan snorts and says, “He flirts with her all the time,” under his breath.

It clearly isn't said quietly enough because Mike’s cheeks redden and he shrieks, “You _what!?”_

“Okay, bye guys!”

The three kids scurry out the door, Steve having to give Mike a tiny push forward while he glares at Steve, but Jonathan lingers by the doorframe with a small smile. “You’re babysitting my siblings?”

He smiles bashfully. “Basically. Your brother and sister are cute. Not as cute as you, though.” That wasn’t, oh no, Steve didn’t mean to say that, why on earth would he say that?

Jonathan flushes profusely, but he maintains eye contact. “I’m not cute," he insists, voice cracking in a way that is extremely cute.

“You are adorable. Nancy thinks so, too.”

Jonathan grows even redder and he ducks his head briefly before lifting it back up. “She said that?”

“During a study session, yeah. Don’t tell her I said that. She said, and I quote, _I’ll castrate you._ ”

“That’s interesting.” Jonathan smiles, looking almost giddy.

It’s a revelation that feels like it should’ve hit earlier, but now that it's there, Steve can't help but wonder how he missed it: Jonathan has a thing for Nancy. He totally saw the thing she has for Jonathan, but not the other way around, and wow, he’s got it bad. All their teasing, mock insults, stolen smiles. Shit. 

Steve almost jokes that he gets it, but that’s a weird line that he doesn’t want to cross. Instead, he says, “Don’t tell me we’re wrong, ‘cuz then you’d be insulting my taste.”

“Your music taste is garbage.”

Steve scoffs, jabbing a finger on Jonathan’s chest. “You can’t say that if you’ve never listened to my music, dick-wipe!”

He laughs, pointing a finger back at Steve’s chest. “I don’t have to. Look at you. You scream Billboard’s Top 100.”

“And you scream Arctic Monkey’s and The Neighbourhood.”

“Shut up.”

“ _Make_ me.”

“Jonathan, stop getting distracted! I have an English paper due tomorrow,” Jane shouts.

They dart away from each other immediately. He gives Steve an apologetic look. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“I’ll make sure to play you my _garbage_ music.”

Jonathan sharply grins, reaching forward to bump his shoulder against Steve’s. “Glad you agree.”

“You know what I meant, asshole!”

Steve walks back inside grinning like an idiot. He falters when he sees Lucas, Max, and Dustin staring at him pointedly. “What?”

“Jonathan,” they say as if he’s supposed to understand what that means.

“My name’s Steve,” he jokes, but their expressions remain flat. Sighing, he sits cross-legged in front of them with his hands clasped out in front of them. “What d’you guys mean?”

“You obviously—“

“No!” Dustin cries, cutting Lucas off. “Let him get there on his own.”

He eyes them suspiciously, but dismisses it as a fourteen year-old thing. “Whatever.” He shuffles until he’s laying down and the kids join him, the AC cooling them down.

“I miss elementary school,” Max says wistfully.

“Me too. But I mean it gets better. Like, school gets tougher, but you get better. And by my book, you’re all pretty fuck—freaking great already.”

“We like you too,” Dustin says. “You’re not like the other seniors who scare us with their giraffe height. Your giraffe height is comforting. Like you'll protect me from war. Or inter dimensional monsters.”

Lucas nods enthusiastically. "We're happy to be stuck with you."

A genuine smile spreads across Steve's mouth as Max foots his leg in her agreement. "Me too."

* * *

The days pass by a little easier.

His time is still painfully limited to the confines of his bedroom, but school isn't _so_ bad anymore. Lunch with Jonathan becomes fun; the kids get him up on his feet and he likes their energy; study sessions with Nancy are somewhat productive and they flirt throughout most of it; History is amazing because he has Nancy _and_ Jonathan.

There's still this hole where Tommy was, where his life back in the centre of everything was. Then there's this abyss where his future lays, where he can see nothing and everything. He doesn't know what to do about that. He has no fucking clue what he's doing _ever_ and sometimes, sometimes he'll lay in bed, late at night, and the fear will swallow him whole and he can't think straight and he can't fucking   _breathe_ —

but come morning time, it's easy to forget when Jonathan sits next to him to play a song, the two sharing a set of earbuds, and Nancy leans over Steve’s shoulder to correct his grammar with her purple pen.

* * *

He starts going to History a few minutes earlier for Nancy, then for her and Jonathan every day.

Nancy's already there, her face brightening when she sees him. "Hey, you."

"Hey yourself," he says, practically skipping over to his seat. The classroom is mostly empty, but he barely notices; all he sees is Nancy and her white blouse, her black skirt, and her recently-cut hair falling to her shoulders. Her hair looks soft and he desperately wants to tangle his fingers in her hair or have her fingers in his, and he has to sit on his hands to physically restrain himself from doing so. "I'm starting to think you're coming a little earlier than me so you're here before I am. You don't need to one-up me."

"I know," she says, spinning around to face him with a grin, "I want to."

"Fuck. I could've sworn I'd make it before you two."

Nancy and Steve raise their heads at the sound of Jonathan's voice as he walks in.

"I was  _this_ close to beating her."

"No, he wasn't."

"Obviously," Jonathan says, smiling earnestly as he shuffles to his seat. "Let me guess. Nancy got here, hmm, twenty minutes ago?"

She shrugs. "I'll never tell."

Steve swallows a lump in his throat and says, "Hey, guys?" His voice cracks, and he sounds fourteen years old, like Lucas when his voice cracked during an improv and they all had to stop and laugh at him. 

"Yeah, Steve?" Nancy says.

He spits it out. "I was wondering if you wanted to go to a Halloween party with me. I know it's not really your scene, but I’m so bored at home, and we’re buddies, dudes, _amigos,_ and—please. Please. I’ll pay you.”

Nancy chuckles. “Steve! Calm down. I’m game. But if you want to still pay me, you can. Now, you on the other hand…”

Their eyes simultaneously meet Jonathan’s. “No.”

“Jonathan,” Nancy says, “c’mon! Don’t you want money?”

“To be a male escort?”

Steve has a half-baked thought about how Jonathan doesn't get to call him extra anymore. “That’s not what—what? Stop being weird, come hangout with us. Please. Don’t you want to see me look stupid?”

“You always look stupid.”

“You walked into that one,” Nancy says, snickering. She leans forward to foot Jonathan’s thigh. “C’mon. Be social for one night. Give it an hour. You can dress up as a guy who doesn’t hate parties!”

“Ha ha.”

Steve reaches out and clasps his shoulder. “Please? Like Nance said, one hour. That’s it. We can spend the rest of the night driving around and listening to _your_ music.”

Nancy and Steve stare him down, and Jonathan's groan is signal that they've won. "You know," he says, "that costume idea isn't that bad."

He and Nancy high-five, and he's not the slightest bit ashamed of how loudly he squeals.

* * *

The party is a few days later, and when Nancy off-handedly mentions she's thinking of dressing up as Hermione, Steve already knows what he's going as. He's such a Ron, but he doesn't want to make Nancy uncomfortable, and that is such an obvious pairing that other people will no doubt catch the reference. It's not like he's ashamed of her, but their _thing_ is such a big question mark, that this'll be even weirder.

So Harry Potter, it is.

He picks Nancy up first, sure to keep his overhead light on so she can see his costume, namely his scar and glasses.

"You _didn't!_ Steve, your scar looks great, and wow, you did that with only a mirror?"

"My mom helped," he admits.

She pinches his cheeks, pushing his fake glasses further up his nose. "You have a robe and everything. This is definitely you trying to one-up me."

"No, it's to surprise you! Okay, no, you're right, this is a competition and I've won."

She lightly slaps his shoulder, leaning into his passenger seat. "Fine, I'll give you that. C'mon, let's go get our guy that absolutely _loves_ parties."

Steve's breath hitches at Nancy's easy iteration of _our guy_ and at the hand she has on his free one. He says nothing, driving off towards the address Jonathan gave him earlier that Friday.

Jonathan shuffles into the backseat, his eyes crinkling with a smile when he registers Nancy and Steve's outfits. "Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Nice."

"What glowing praise," Steve snarks, but he grins anyway, shooting his head around to get a good look at Jonathan. But it's too dark in his car and it's not like he dressed up anyway.

At least that's what Steve thinks.

When they park by the curb, past several feet of cars, a streetlight lights up their figures. Steve squints at Jonathan, slamming his door shut. "Are you...no _fucking_ way."

Jonathan's got a long pair of jeans, with Nike shoes on, and a blue jacket that looks eerily similar to the one Steve owns and always wears. His _hair,_ oh God, Steve wants to laugh and cry from its accuracy; it's not as similar since Jonathan's hair is shorter, but it's clearly styled with gel.

"You're me."

"Nancy's idea." Jonathan smiles, then runs his fingers through his now-floppy hair like Steve does, and oh, that's weird, but kinda hot? Is _that_ weird?

Steve grins, bobbing his head to look at Nancy. "You did this?"

" _He_ was so excited, you should've seen him! We, uh, hung out at his after school to work on it."

Nancy and Jonathan share a smile so intimate that Steve looks away. He can't even be jealous, his unadulterated happiness not tainted by the fact that they put this time, effort, and thought for him _._ "Picture please?"

Jonathan flips his hair. "Sure, _bro._ "

"I'm so happy right now." Steve bounces on the balls of his feet continuously and wraps an arm around Jonathan's waist. There might be a blush creeping up Jonathan's neck, but that could be sweat.

Nancy pulls her phone out, adjusting her Gryffindor sweater. "This is too weird. There's two of them now."

Steve raises an eyebrow and winks. "Too much for ya?"

"There's a spell somewhere to shut your mouth, right?"  Nancy takes a few pictures, before yanking on both of their arms to drag them inside.

Steve's chest heaves as they walk in. He hasn't fully been ousted from the school's hierarchy. He has _some_ leverage, sure, enough to keep him from getting any shit for completely dropping Tommy and his other friends and shacking up with Jonathan Byers instead. This party invite still felt like a stretch, but fuck it: a party was a party. Meaningless, mindless fun.

What was there not to like?

Scratch that, Steve decides, upon seeing Tommy's narrowed eyes and his firm, determined stride towards them. He's dressed in a Winter Soldier costume which admittedly hurts, because theywanted to match this year. Instead Mark fucking Jackson wears what was supposed to be Steve's Captain America's costume.

It's an incredibly minor thing to grow annoyed at when Tommy marches towards them with his eyes screaming murder.

"Seriously? _Them?_ You're coming here with them?"

Steve instinctively slides in front of Nancy and Jonathan. "C'mon, man. Not here."

"No, no, fuck _you._ This is my turf, so you don't get to come here and act all high and mighty. If you leave, you take everything you like with you too. Parties included. God, Byers' dick must be magic for you to go all haywire and shit." He punctuates his words with a hard push of Steve's chest.

Steve should walk away. His face is still healing from their fight two months ago and Tommy's probably drunk. But he doesn't like the way his eyes scan Jonathan or Nancy, and really wouldn't put it past his former best friend to attack Jonathan, here and now.  "Walk away, Tommy. Jonathan handed your ass to you with a nice little bow around it, too. Want a repeat of last time?"

Tommy laughs, the sound a noise that used to one of Steve's favourite things in the world. It still kind of is, but it feels sickening. "I can take him. I'm sure we all can. Got back-up, ya see."

Tommy reaches out for Jonathan and Steve's heart twists, but before he can do anything, a hand clenches around Tommy's wrist and twists.

"Do you like being a little shit?"

Nancy twists harder. Suddenly she's in front of Steve and Jonathan both, her eyes horrifyingly calm. "Huh? You like being that asshole that has to interrupt a party over a conflict you can't handle with words? No, not today. I came here to dance and drink and have fun. So did everyone else. So did Jonathan and Steve. You can stay, but you'll leave _my_ boys alone. Do you understand?"

Tommy breaks out into a sweat, some of his eye makeup dripping. "Yeah, yeah, okay, just stop, _ah,_ stop, you're hurting me!"

Nancy releases her grip on him and watches Tommy for another moment. "Go somewhere where I can't see you."

Just like that, Tommy and the rest of them stalk elsewhere, down a hall out of view. Everyone's eyes are on them, Steve only now realizes, but Nancy turns around and shrugs casually. The party continues normally.

 _That_ was hot. Steve looks at Jonathan, almost for confirmation, but his eyes are on Nancy, mouth split into a grin. "You're brilliant and horrifying," he says.

Nancy beams. She interlaces her fingers with Jonathan's, then with Steve's. "I know. Come on, let's dance!"

It takes coaxing Jonathan to convince him to dance. But Steve and Nancy are stubborn, and they pull him close. Nancy blatantly flirts with him, a hand curling up at the back of his neck, a vivacious grin that has Steve weak in the knees. Steve doesn't think he'll have the same effect, so he dances the Macarena.  Jonathan's not all that bad. He starts uncomfortably, but when Nancy slides his hand on the small of her back, and Steve cautiously places his hands on Jonathan's waist, he relaxes.

No one bothers them. Before Steve would thank that to his status, but now, he knows it's all Nancy.

"You guys want a drink?"

Jonathan waves a hand dismissively, over the music, shouting, "No thanks!"

"Get me one, please!" Nancy yells.

Steve reluctantly disentangles himself from the mess of limbs they've made on the dance floor (a living room with all the furniture moved elsewhere, really), feeling the absence of their hands on him the moment he's gone.

He stops, once he's past the people dancing and where everyone's sprawled out, tired and talking, or tired and making out. His eyes zero in on Nancy and Jonathan, her hands framing his face, his still on her back. It's ridiculously hot. Jonathan always gave Steve _Leo_ vibes, but this is something else, with his hair everywhere, his collar popped by Steve himself, and the laziest, laid-back grin on his face. Nancy's hair is curled and tied back from the intense heat in the house, her eyes bolder, and her skirt short enough that Steve has a great view of her legs. She looks beautiful like that: carefree, her body swaying to the music, showing Jonathan what to do. 

Steve only looks away because someone bumps into him, tearing him away from his thoughts that really only consist of how fucking good Nancy and Jonathan look. Separately. Together.

Then: how good  _he'd_ look with them. 

* * *

He doesn't mean to get shit-faced. It just happens.

One drink becomes another, and then another, until he’s slurring incoherently. One am rolls around and he can stand, thank you, but not well. Jonathan holds him up with an amused smile. “He’s done for the night. Let’s take him home.”

“You’re so strong,” Steve mumbles into Jonathan’s shoulder as he’s hoisted up into his arms.

Nancy pets his hair, following them on their way out of the house. “He’s so cute, isn’t he? Fuck, do you think he’ll remember that?”

Steve murmurs, “Hopefully,” and feels Jonathan’s body shake with laughter.

They drape him in the backseat and Nancy tucks her folded-up sweater underneath his head as a pillow. When Jonathan pulls up to Steve’s house, he asks gently, “Is anyone home?”

“Nope!”

Jonathan lifts him up again and he and Nancy take him up to his bedroom. They speak, but he’s so exhausted that it’s all background noise anyway. It’s a pleasant, soothing sound, the hoarseness of Jonathan’s voice, the scratch of Nancy’s.

“I should probably take your car, I promise to bring it to you tomorrow. Steve, is there anything else you need?”

He shifts underneath the large comforter Nancy had strewn over him, humming when her fingers card through his hair. “Yes, Jonathan, kinda. Can you guys stay?”

His eyes are shut, but he can picture their confused, maybe shy and sheepish looks. “It’s just that...God, I’m so alone. I don’t do anything, I’m always in this stupid room, in this stupid house, all by myself. And I _like_ you guys, I do, but I don’t think you like me, or you don’t like me as much, which—which is okay, I guess I can be a lot, but. But I can’t do it right now. It’s way too quiet here. Always quiet, no one’s ever home, and—and this bed is big, honestly! I won’t cuddle you, if you don’t want. Okay, I might, in my sleep. Sorry in advance.”

His eyes flutter open.

Nancy wipes at her eyes. Jonathan’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, his chin wobbling.

“Steve,” Nancy says softly, “Jonathan, we can’t leave him. I can tell my mom I’m at someone’s house, she won’t know who since Barb moved anyway, and, oh, would your mom mind?”

“No, no, she’ll understand. I’ll call her. One second.”

He darts out of the room, Steve watching him go. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

She reaches for his hand and firmly squeezes it. “We've got you.” Nancy slides underneath the comforter and despite the expanse of space, buries herself into his right side.

His fingers drop to her waist. “You’re warm.”

“You’re warm, too. Very snuggly. I want to cuddle, ‘s that okay? You can be the small spoon.”

“ _S_ _weet,_ I’m never small spoon!” Steve happily turns over, her arm immediately pulling him close.

Jonathan returns. He stands at the foot of the bed. “Where do you want me, Steve?”

Steve loudly slaps the space to his left. “Here, obviously. If you’re okay with that.”

Jonathan nods and lays next to him. His feet brush against Steve’s but then pulls away hastily, only to slowly bring his toes back to the back of Steve's feet. “Oh, shit I forgot the light.” He starts to move, but Steve's fingers gently reach for his wrist.

“Please stay. Too comfy.”

Jonathan settles back in, and cautiously presses a hand on Steve’s back. Steve pulls him closer until his hand is on Nancy’s and they’re an entangled mess of warmth and bodies.

He sees them both share one of their secret looks, their eyes carrying the conversation. He closes his eyes as he basks in the comfort they give: the calloused fingers smoothing up and down his back, the chin on his shoulder, the legs hooked around his.

“Get some rest,” Nancy says finally, “you’ll be super hungover tomorrow.”

“We’ll be here,” Jonathan promises. “Not going anywhere. I promise.”

Steve knows some part of him will regret this in the morning. He'll be hit with embarrassment that’s typical with hangovers and from what he'd admitted. But right now, he can’t be bothered to care. Not when he’s surrounded by two of his favourite people, feeling more loved than he has in his entire life.

* * *

He expects Monday to be weird.

He’d told Nancy and Jonathan he was fine that next morning after the party, memories of his candor rising to the surface of his mind. He was, after waking up in their embrace. He didn’t want them around purely because Hungover Steve was annoyed by everything. He nearly told Nancy to shut up because she breathed a little loudly and got mad at himself for five minutes afterwards.

But it’s not.

If anything, everything feels lighter.

“I still have videos of you dancing,” Nancy teases.

“Post that anywhere and I’ll fight you.”

“You’d lose.”

Jonathan’s eyes sparkle as he says, “Probably. But what about Steve's dancing?”

“What _about_ my dancing?”

They don’t mention it. Sometimes, though, he can tell his impromptu speech still sticks with them, because Jonathan invites them into his dark room for lunch a few times a week and Nancy invites Jonathan to a bi-weekly “study” group. Out of school hangouts aren’t there yet, but Steve knows it’s coming.

* * *

The next two months fly by until it’s the week before winter break.

Nancy messages him that weekend with a gift idea for Jonathan: a camera to replace the one Tommy broke. He’d insisted he pay the entire cost, but she refused. She had to watch her siblings that weekend, so he went out and bought all the gifts he needed.

That Friday, the atmosphere at school is something else entirely. Hawkins High is crowded with banners and decorations—mostly for Christmas, but some for Kwanzaa and Hanukkah. Red and green lights paint the halls, Christmas songs playing in between periods and during lunch. Everyone’s happy; teachers, who play movies rather than teach, and students, elated with the freedom taking the form of two weeks of break long enough to not be annoying and confrontational.

Steve’s happy, too. He feels like Santa, with all the gifts he carries in his backpack; most are for the kids, but a few, ones he’d taken more time to wrap though that may not show from its messiness, are for Jonathan and Nancy.

Steve instinctively heads out to the dark room after second period. Nancy’s permanently joined them in their lunches, and they spend most of them in the dark room. Sometimes, Jonathan reluctantly kicks them out because he has work for his photography class or yearbook to complete. He calls them “distracting” and Steve takes extra joy in that fact.

“What’s on your head?” Nancy asks as Steve shuts the door, carefully slipping his backpack onto the floor.

“A Santa hat. ‘Cuz I’m about to bless you two with some awesome gifts.”

He sits next to Jonathan, pressing his leg up against his.

Jonathan taps his finger against Steve’s knee. “It’s cute.”

Steve’s sure his face is red all over, flush deepening when Nancy leans across Jonathan to readjust his hat. “Dorky, too.”

“Not that I don’t like you two thirsting over me—“

“Because me calling you a dork is _definitely_ me lusting over you.”

“Gifts first! I really wanna give you guys your gifts. Nance? Shall we go first?”

Nancy nods excitedly, slapping at Steve’s hands to quickly pull the gift out. He presents the nicely-wrapped (done by Nancy) camera, her having given him the gift so he could sign the card laced on top. “Hope you’ll like it.”

They eagerly watch Jonathan, his faint blush rising up his neck as he slowly, cautiously unwraps the wrapping paper. His mouth parts once he removed the final piece of tape, a small gasp escaping him as he hoists his camera up. “You didn’t.”

“We did,” Nancy says, “to replace the one Tommy broke.”

Jonathan’s face is hard to read. But there’s a shift when his fingers rub down the box, a slight reveal with his half-smile, a brightening in his eyes that brightens Nancy’s eyes, too.

And Steve’s.

“You guys...you didn’t have to…”

“Shut up,” Steve says tenderly, “we wanted to. The first picture can be of us.”

Jonathan smiles, holding the box close to his heart. “Of course.”

Nancy thrusts an unfamiliar, wrapped box into Jonathan’s hand. “Since the camera was a joint gift, I thought I’d add this to.”

“Nance, what the _hell?_ You didn’t tell me you got him something else!”

She spreads her leg over Jonathan’s to foot Steve’s calf, keeping it there. Her foot rests against his and he’s so content with the small bout of affection.

“Open it.”

It’s a yellow shirt, neatly folded until he spreads it out to properly examine it. “A yellow shirt?”

“You’re always wearing black and your clothes don’t entirely fit, so I thought you might like it."

“How’d you know my size?”

“Will.”

“How’d  _he_ know my size?”

“You’re a heavy sleeper. So you’ll wear it?”

“Always,” Jonathan says, clutching the shirt tightly.

“You won’t wash it?”

“Steve, shut up."

Steve snorts at Jonathan, shoving a smaller gift into his hands. “So here’s my second gift.”

“You're a hypocritical shit, Steve Harrington," Nancy huffs. 

Jonathan blushes, pinky brushing against Steve’s before he decisively hooks his finger around Steve’s. “A mixtape?”

Nancy’s chin rests on Jonathan’s shoulder. “Romantic,” she teases, so Steve foots her thigh back, until they engage in a small fight that stops when Nancy accidentally hits Jonathan in the eye.  

Steve laughs, a little out of breath, and leans against the wall. “You always have ten mixtapes in your car, and I figured this would be a cool gift. Will helped me.”

“Will’s usually garbage at keeping things from me,” he murmurs, fingers tracing over the messy scrawl of his own name.

“There’s a tracklist on the back. Some songs of mine I know you like, ‘cuz you mouth along. Don’t bother trying to deny it.”

Jonathan remains quiet for a long time. The camera, mixtape, and shirt sit on his lap, and his eyes switch back and forth between the items before he sighs. “Thank you. So much.”

“Nance, I’m giving you your gift now.”

“Do you have any smaller siblings?” She asks as he passes her a messily-wrapped box.

“No, why?”

“Wondering if you let them wrap my gift.”

“This took me twenty minutes.”

Jonathan’s eyes widen. “ _T_ _wenty_ minutes?”

Steve taps her nose, then the box. “You gonna complain about me or open your super cool gift?”

Nancy blinks up at him, ducking her head and avoiding Steve's gaze as she works on unwrapping her gift. “You had this made?” She beams while lifting a mug reading _NANCY WHEELER — WORLD’S BEST TUTOR._ She laughs and slaps a hand over her mouth. “You idiot.” It’s said so fondly that Steve can’t help but grin.

"Look inside the mug."

"You didn't have to..." She trails off, picking up a small, red-box. "We're too young to get married."

He smirks at her teasing tone, his heart admittedly skipping a beat at the sparkle in her eyes. "Not yet, Nance. Not yet." He feels Jonathan freeze next to him and fumbles for something to do. Acknowledge Jonathan's crush on Nancy? No, that's stupid. Instead he drops his head onto his shoulder, hoping that's something strong enough for him to know that he's as important to him as Nancy is.

He supposes that's Nancy's intent when she laces their fingers together.

"It's a raven," she says softly. She lifts the ring up, a blue raven shining. It wasn't that expensive, not really, not for Steve. Neither was the half he paid for the camera. He knows they'll both think it is, but he doesn't care. It's his dad's money and Steve's not only content to blow it all away, but to do so for them.

"You told me you liked ravens, and you're such a Ravenclaw, and you like blue. Your eyes are blue, too, but you already know that. That might be a reach, but. I hope you like it?"

Nancy breaks into a grin. She flings her arms around him, her hand never leaving Jonathan. "I love it. I'll always wear it." 

He holds onto her for longer than is necessary, but she doesn't pull away immediately, either. He clears his throat, flustered though not as much as Nancy is from how she stares at her mug and not at either of them. 

"Let's see your gift beat mine, Jonathan."

"Gladly." He picks up a CD cover from his backpack. "I didn't have a lot to spend, but I spent some time on this, and, well, it's a CD with music. I would've made a mixtape, but I thought, okay, this is modern or whatever? You don't have a car, but you might one day, or use it for your laptop, or—"

"Jonathan?"

"Yes, Nancy?"

"Stop speaking. It's beautiful. And the cover is a picture you took, oh, I remember it," she gushes, taking the case from his hands. "It was from one of our first study sessions, on that English project. He'd taken the picture and then immediately apologized when he realized he didn't ask."

He leans closer to Jonathan to see the picture, one of Nancy bathed in midday light, her hair flowing freely down her shoulders, a book laid-out in her lap. She looks ethereal, bright, and determined. It's no doubt that's how Jonathan sees her. It's not only a beautiful photograph because of Nancy, but because of Jonathan. He almost wants to ask for a copy.

"And then, I got this picture that you said you liked once here developed, but with larger dimensions, like a poster. It's folded, 'cuz you would've noticed me carrying around a big piece of paper and I don't want to be obvious. Not like Steve."

"You didn't have to bring me in like this. I'm not obvious."

"You asked me my favourite colour the other week."

"For the camera! Stop being an ass. Why do you hurt me like this?" He feigns heartache with a hand hovering over his heart.

Jonathan pokes his thigh. "It's fun."

"You're hurtful."

"I know."

Nancy coughs. “Can I get my gift now?"

Jonathan chuckles. "Sure. Here it is."

She unfolds it out in front of them. It's a picture of a pier in Hawkins, some run-down thing Steve's been to a million times, with different girls. It's nothing special, but the way Jonathan's captured it makes it seem like one of the seven wonders of the world. The light spilling in, the bright blue of the water, and the contrast of colours leave him breathless. "Beautiful," Steve murmurs, eyes following Jonathan, then Nancy. "Absolutely beautiful."

"Jonathan, I told you that a month ago. You remembered?"

"Of course."

Steve watches another intimate smile shared between them. There it is: it's this thing they all have. In the back of his head, he wonders how long it'll be until it all blows up. Steve has a thing for her. So does Jonathan. Nancy likes them both back. This isn't him being conceited; she flirts with him as easily as he breathes. She does the same thing with Jonathan.

But he and Jonathan are friends.

That's the one thing holding Steve back from straight-up asking Nancy to go out with him. Honestly.

Maybe.

Nancy clears her throat. "Your gift, then?"

"Sure. No problem."

"Don't act like you haven't been waiting all day," Jonathan says.

"Oh, I have, I wanted to be cool. Was I cool?"

"You're never cool," they both say, and Steve laughs because they're full of bullshit. He's the _coolest._ Much more cooler now, with his gaggle of children and his two partners in crime. His heart twists a little with the memory of Tommy, how he's not there anymore, but here and now, it's easy to forget.

Nancy slides a nicely-wrapped gift towards him. "You and I think too much alike."

"No way." Sure enough, after he hastily tears the paper apart, a cup with the words _Steve Harrington: Best Student_ engraved sits in his hands. He laughs, holding it up to show Jonathan. "I'm using this forever!"

Jonathan slides another CD over. "Here ya go. I hope you like it."

Steve picks it up so quickly he almost drops it. The cover is a picture he's never seen before: one of him at their lunch table, his eyes crinkled with laughter, the kind that strain your cheeks and leave no sound behind. He can't remember the moment. Maybe late September, due to the fading bruises. He doesn't know, but there's this _warmth_ in this picture, of this dorky, nerdy teenager who hangs out with children and truly enjoys their company and laughs at awful puns.

This is someone Steve would want to be.

Hell, this is someone Jonathan thinks Steve is.

Maybe it _is_ who Steve is. 

He looks at Jonathan then and blurts out, "Is this how you see me?"

He blushes. "Yeah."

"Oh."

"Is that weird? You were laughing super hard, I guess you didn't notice the flash, and I don't, I don't mean for it to be a bad thing or—"

"I like it. I love it."

Nancy watches them with her eyebrows pinched together, before understanding smoothes her features, face becoming less tight. She smiles.

"What?" Steve asks.

"Nothing. Anyways, there's a second part."

" _What?_ " Steve grins, clapping his hands. "You guys. Oh my God. I love you both."

Nancy giggles, barely managing out the words, "We know," before passing him up a folded picture. "I had the idea, but Jonathan had it developed. Your walls didn’t have pictures of family or anything when we went the night of the Halloween party, and I thought, I don't know, you'd like it. Maybe make being in your room all the time not so garbage all the time."

His eyebrows furrow, but he unfolds the picture out into a poster. A poster of _them._ It's Halloween night. Steve is sandwiched in between Nancy and Jonathan. He laughs, his cup mid-slosh in his hands, arms around them both. Jonathan smiles, a little embarrassed, and Nancy grins, reaching across Steve to pinch Jonathan's cheeks.

"I don't remember this," he admits.

"You were half-way wasted. I brought my camera, y'know, to document the _first_ high school party I've been to. It's also the last. We asked someone to take it."

The picture radiates such happiness. He holds the mug, the CD, the picture in his hands, where he feels tangible evidence that he is loved. That he is a good person, because people like Nancy and Jonathan are, undeniably, good.

He hopes, he _prays,_ they understand that they're loved through their gifts, too.

* * *

Later, after school, the kids run around the drama room, high with the energy from candy canes and chocolate. The kids got him a baby blue sweater with the words  _Best Babysitter_ on his arm. It's sort of an inside joke, considering Steve jokes with them and watch over them, rather than "teach" like he was meant to. They always call him a useless drama teacher right before asking for help with homework. Useless in drama, yes. Useless in math...also yes. But he did pass ninth grade math with a decent grade, so he's of some help. 

And apparently he's a pretty damn good babysitter, too. 

Nancy and Jonathan join them, and Steve bounces between everyone after giving the children their gifts. 

He joins Nancy an hour in on the floor, stealing a sip of her cup of Coke. "They're a lot, huh?"

"In a good way." She yawns, beckoning for him to come closer with her hands.

"You come closer."

" _You_ come."

"What, no, oh fine _._ "

Nancy chuckles, running her fingers through his hair as he lays his head down in her lap. "I can get you to do anything, huh?"

"Uh-huh. Don't abuse that, please."

"Never," she tells him solemnly.

They fall into a comfortable, tired silence, watching the kids run around. Steve spots Jonathan helping Will make a prop, wiping the paint from his nose with a laugh.

His eyes flick to Nancy, who watches Jonathan with a small, sweet smile. "Whatcha staring at, Wheeler?" He teases.

She stutters for one second until she fiercely responds, "The same thing you are, Harrington."

Steve gives her a bewildered look, staring up at her. “What d’ya mean?”

Nancy continues to play with his hair, her eyes trained on Jonathan. “Steve, I just—you know it’s okay, right? That you like what you like. There’s nothing wrong you or with that. If—if you’re happy, that’s all that matters." She swallows. "Obviously, I'm speaking in general terms."

He’s too flabbergasted to respond. The pieces are there, but he doesn't want to think about that now.

They go back to watching Jonathan be adorable with his brother.

* * *

Steve realizes it shortly afterwards and he feels like an idiot.

Jonathan, Nancy, and him make plans over the break to see a movie and hangout at the mall. It _should_ feel more climatic, but really, it goes like this:

Steve sees Jonathan in the food court and his heart stops, then expands. Everything becomes brighter and he smiles without thinking about it. He hugs him without any trace of hesitation.

"I missed you," he says eagerly.

"It's been three days." Jonathan smiles back, wide and slow, his hands lingering by Steve's shoulders.

"Tell me about it," he says, grinning, and oh shit. Shit.

He's _so_ fucking into Jonathan, it's ridiculous. He realizes it in a _food court_ of all places. He's jumpy throughout the rest of the day and at some point, wants to ask Nancy if she knew. Because of course she did, right? That teasing reply from the last day before break occurs to him throughout the movie. He almost wants to demand how she knew and how he didn't, how she didn't _tell_ him, but then he realizes how fucked up it all his.

Steve likes Nancy. So does Jonathan. Nancy likes Steve. Nancy also likes Jonathan.

And _so does Steve._

He tosses and turns over it that night in bed, thinking about how he could possibly miss something so obvious. He compared Jonathan to _Leonardo DiCaprio._ He calls him cute all the time. Fuck, he _flirts_ with him, too!

He's _so_ gay for Jonathan Byers.

It's weird—except it's not. Not really.

With Nancy, he knew from the second he saw her that he liked her. What made Jonathan different? Over the break, he tries comparing his feelings for them both by whipping out a set of crayons and colour two, separate pictures.

It's not much help. Nancy's is a mess of yellow and Jonathan's one of pink. Large strokes, long lines: different colours, same picture itself.

Fuck. He's screwed.

* * *

Exams come and go.

Steve isn't anxious, because his marks have gone up since Nancy entered his life. Plus, with all the extra time in his first half of the semester gave him nothing to do but his work. Nancy's relentless at getting them to study with her, but it's surprisingly easier to focus with the both of them around. Jonathan's foot tapping next to his, and Nancy's arm brushed up against his are soothing.

He _is_ anxious, because applications go out. Ms. Dunbar is fairly confident in Steve, and the people his father knows at universities everywhere it seems is promising. But getting in isn't his (main) concern: it's going.

He doesn't want to. Plain and simple.

How could he? His heart isn't in it, and maybe that's some wild, millennial idea, but _fuck,_ Steve can't spend four years studying something he has zero interest in, let alone the rest of his life spent working on it. He knows, because he dislikes the few business courses he has. He does well in them because Nancy scares him. Otherwise? He'd be failing.

He weighs the pros and cons.

Pros: an actual career path with paths already paved thanks to his dad and he doesn't know what else he wants to do.

Cons: he'd hate it and would be unhappy for the rest of his life.

See? He's conflicted. Plus, there's another thing.

The Jonathan and Nancy thing.

Steve chooses to deal with this situation later. He has no idea _how_ to. He should talk to them, but that'd ruin everything and someone would be left out. Jonathan and Nancy leaves him out. He and Nancy leave Jonathan out. Jonathan and Steve—maybe. Maybe? This is uncharted territory that's different and odd, and not Steve. He's not—

He _isn't._

Maybe he is? He doesn't know, okay! Sure, Leonardo Dicaprio's cute, who wouldn't find him attractive, and Mark Jackson is an ass, but his ass is fine, and oh,  _those are not straight thoughts._

Yeah, no, he's definitely into Jonathan. A little gay for him.

(Nevermind. Steve does some researching: bisexual. He tries the word out, and doesn't know how he feels. That seems to be a reoccurring theme.

But then he finds articles with the underlying theme of _you don't have to know._ Finally. Relief pours out in waves. He does have to know, at least about one of these things in a few months, but there's magic in those words. Of knowing that there's no due date, no timeline for his sexuality, his life. That he'll figure it out as he goes along. It lifts some of the ache, the strain September's put on his back. Steve'll be okay. He reminds himself of it, in the mornings woken up in sweat, in late nights, when he submits his applications.

It makes him feel a little better, knowing that he doesn't have to figure it all out now. It's not much, but it's something.)

* * *

“What is he doing?”

Steve raises his head to follow Nancy’s eyes and gawks at the sight he finds: Jonathan talking to Carol. "What the fuck," he says eloquently.

Nancy stabs her plate of chicken. "I know! At first I thought she was being a jerk to him, and I was ready to, you know, murder her, but look."

He narrows his eyes, and spies Carol's hand resting on Jonathan's arm, her excessive laughter, a finger twirling through her hair. "What the fuck," he repeats. "Nancy, what—oh. I get it."

"What?"

"See," he says, waving his fork.

"Finish your food first. You have sauce on your cheek, by the way."

"Gross, sorry, let me—"

She grabs the napkin before he does, leaning forward to dab his cheek. She smiles and he smiles back, surely incapable of not returning one. She averts her eyes, dropping the used napkin on the table. "What is it, then? With Carol?"

"Right, um. Yeah, so Tommy and her broke up for like, the twentieth time last weekend. Jonathan smeared his reputation and made him feel like an embarrassment, so this is how she'll get back at him."

"Why not you?"

"'Cuz in Tommy's eyes, this would be worse. Tommy hit me, but he couldn't lay a finger on Jonathan."

Nancy nods, understanding in her eyes. But then she takes another stab. "Look at him, Steve. _Look._ "

Jonathan doesn't stand there awkwardly. He smiles. He _meets_ her eyes.

" _What!?_ "

"Exactly!"

Steve and Nancy stare at them for what's probably an inappropriate amount of time with their mouths pressed in firm lines and their arms crossed. Jonathan eventually comes by their table, alone, and his smile freezes when he registers their annoyed expressions. "What?"

"You were talking to Carol," Nancy says.

"Why?" Steve says bluntly. 

Jonathan slowly sits down. "She came up to me. Said some stuff about my pictures, I don't know. She was nice."

"Nice," Steve barks out, laughing sarcastically. "That was a paradox."

Jonathan smiles and says, "Hey, you're picking up your English literary devices quickly."

"What—no, he insulted her! That was an insult!" Nancy huffs. "Do you like her?"

"I told you, she was nice."

Steve groans. "No, bro, do you  _like_ her?"

He splutters, useless garble coming out of his mouth before he stops and collects his thoughts. "I've spoken to her for five minutes. You can't like someone from five minutes of interaction."

Steve disagrees, thinking back to sitting with Jonathan by the principal's office, to Nancy's sly remark about his general idiocy. But that's not the point. "You don't like her."

"No. Plus, she's Tommy's ex-girlfriend, right? She's probably not a good person anyway." Jonathan gives them a look. "Are we okay?"

Nancy smiles, her shoulders sagging. "'Course we are, nerd. I'm going to be right back, get some water."

Once she's out of view, he asks Steve, "I feel like I'm missing something."

"She's totally jealous."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah! Why else would she act like that?"

"I mean, you acted like that."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

Steve chews on his inner cheek. "Get me some water, why don't you?"

"Lazy," he says, grinning. But he stands up and darts off towards Nancy anyway.

Jonathan  _has_ to know. He and Nancy are not subtle whatsoever, and this interaction further cemented that. How is Jonathan not as obvious as they are?

Or maybe he is. He flirts with Nancy in his own Jonathan way, smiles more with her around, looks at her with such adoration, a soft, gentleness in his eyes whenever she's not looking.

He  _did_ give Steve a CD with a picture of him.

He  _does_ smile more with Steve, especially after their lunches started.

As for the last thing—

Steve looks up, seeing them both come back into view, walking towards their table. Jonathan's eyes meet his, for one brief second and it's there, isn't it, what else would that twinkle in his eyes be—

Like that, he lowers his head and says something to Nancy.

Huh. 

Isn't that something.

* * *

Jonathan's house is small, run-down, and a mess, but it's the coziest place Steve's ever been in. Love marks every inch of the house with the splatters of paint and markers on the walls, the dozens of photographs, the ticks of growing heights for Jane, Will, and Jonathan, a drawing of the Byers-Hopper family done by Will himself. This must be part of why Steve's house feels empty. He's not surrounded by tangible pieces of love like he is here.

"No one's home?" Nancy says, dropping her jacket onto a chair.

Jonathan pushes their boots off to a corner of the mat by the door. "Yup. Parents are at some couple retreats for Valentine's, which I think was her way of saying motel without actually saying it, and the kids are at Dustin's place." 

If it were anyone else, Steve would wonder if there was a hidden intention behind Jonathan's invitation. But it's Jonathan: he's going to show them songs, pictures, make them tea, and give them whatever baked good Jane made for Valentine's Day. That sounds perfect.

"Can I finally see your room?" Steve asks.

"First one down the—don't run in the house, you're going to fall!"

They sprawl out across Jonathan's bed, barely fitting. Steve finds himself nestled in between them, Nancy's elbow unintentionally digging into his ribs and Jonathan's arm underneath his back. But he has her head on his stomach, his on his shoulder. That makes up for it.

Music plays in the background. An old love song. Steve vaguely remembers it, some of the words springing to his mind, but the title's lost on him.

"I miss having a class with all three of us," Nancy admits. "It's good with you, Jonathan, please don't take that the wrong way, but it's always..."

"A little better?" Jonathan chimes in. "I get it. It's perfect with one of you, but with the other, it's—"

"It's perfect to the power two."

"It's the exponent two."

"Nance, stop ruining the moment."

"Stop defying the rules of math."

Jonathan smiles. "Children, the both of you."

Nancy flicks his ear. "Shut up."

A comfortable silence takes over. Steve feels them breathe against him, feels their breaths sync together. Coupled with the music and the snow falling out the window, it's perfect.

"You know," Nancy says, "I've never understood love triangles."

"What d'ya mean, Nance?"

She sits upright, looking between them both. "I mean, it's one person in love with two different people, who usually hate each other right? But...but it's a triangle. All three points are connected."

Steve's heart thumps wildly in his chest. "What are you—"

"I get it."

He whips his head around at the sound of Jonathan's voice. Their faces are inches apart. 

"Do you?" It's a question that runs deeper than that and Steve feels himself inching closer, licking his lips while keeping his eyes on Jonathan's. 

"Yeah. I do."

Jonathan closes the space between them and finally,  _finally,_ finally kisses him. It feels more climatic than it is. Really, it's only a boy kissing him, but it doesn't feel like something mundane. Because Jonathan's mouth is warm and soft against his, and their tongues move together like it's the easiest thing in the world. Because Steve's heart is full, so full, and he breathes Jonathan in. 

His hands move  _everywhere,_ and so do Jonathan's, flying off towards his hair. The kiss changes, progresses from a tender, sweet moment to a hungrier moment of  _want_ and  _need._ He  _needs_ the hands pulling at his hair, needs the groan that sounds from the back of his throat when he bites down on Jonathan's mouth, needs—

He needs to leave.

"I'm sorry, I can't," Steve pants, breaking away. He can't look at Jonathan, can't begin to imagine how much he's hurt him. 

"Steve, where are you  _going?_ " Nancy cries and he stumbles out the door, out the house without thinking.

It's cold as fuck, but he can't go inside. He stands there, hugging his arms around himself, filled with hate for himself, for how much of an  _idiot_ he is.

The door flies open. Nancy marches towards him and glares, but her eyes are glassy. "What the  _fuck_ are you doing?"

"He kissed me! I don't, Nancy, I  _can't—_ "

"It's okay if you're not ready, but—"

"Ready? Ready for what?"

Nancy puffs out a breath and jabs his chest, hard. "Don't bullshit me. I _know_ you. You said you get it, Steve, you kissed him back—"

"While you watched! Do you not understand how fucking weird that is? I shouldn't like him, shouldn't like the both of you—"

"But you do!" She bursts out, her fury melting into a quiet sadness. "You're ashamed of that? Of him?" She bites out.

Defensiveness hits him, worse than the cold, worse than when he tore apart from Jonathan moments ago. "Of course not," he snaps, "you know it's not that! Nance, c'mon. I'm not like that. That's not me."

"Yeah, you walking out on someone you care about isn't you. I'm not telling you what to do, Steve, and neither of us are going to pressure you, but you can't just _leave_ like that without talking to him. And I know you want to, I know you want to go back in—"

It's a  _look how straight I am_ kiss. Steve regrets it a split second later, because he cut her off, because Nancy deserves a better first kiss, because this is the worst place and time to kiss her. But he can't regret it anymore when Nancy's surprised squeak turns into a deeper, guttural sound that garners heat in his stomach. 

She hooks her arms around his neck, grabbing his face and reeling him into her. She's so warm, like Jonathan, but kissing her is different. He can't explain it, but the differences don't mean shit about who he likes kissing more. This is as good as Jonathan and oh, it's good. Their bodies press together, and all he can feel is her, her hands on his cheeks, her mouth moving against his, her hair in his fingers. 

He's not cold. Not anymore. 

Nancy pulls away, wiping her mouth. "Don't  _ever_ do that again."

Steve's face falls.

"Don't interrupt me like that," she quickly clarifies, laughing, and he laughs, too. "Kiss me again. But, Steve, you already know what I'm going to say."

Steve drops his forehead to hers and kisses her temple. "Nance, we couldn't."

"Why not?"

"We're three people."

"Thanks for the clarification."

"Stop—you know what I mean."

Nancy cradles his face once more, firmly gazing into his eyes. "We're not going to make you do  _anything_ you don't want to do. I promise, we can keep it to ourselves if you don't want to go public. But Steve, if we do it, it has to be the both of us, I couldn't do that to Jonathan when he—"

"Nance, c'mon," he says quietly. He tilts her face up and brushes his thumb against her chin. "It's  _always_ been the both of you. But it wouldn't be easy, I just..."

She closes her eyes and kisses his nose.  "Tell me you don't want this, then, and we can pretend nothing happened. Just say the word."

He could. He could tell her and go back to whatever they were before. It'd be easier. But then again, it would've been easier to apologize to Tommy, not to have defended Jonathan in the first place, but he's made it this far. Fuck easy. This is what he wants: he knows it more than anything. "I don't want to lie to you."

"Guess we should tell a certain someone, huh?"

"Shit!" Steve sprints back into the house, breathlessly tumbling into Jonathan's room.

Jonathan's head lifts up and he stops pacing. "I'm sorry," he stammers, his face paler than ever. "I shouldn't have—"

Steve runs up to Jonathan with more certainty than he's ever felt in his life. "Please stop. Don't apologize. I  _wanted_ to kiss you, okay? I still do. I want you. I'm an idiot, I—"

"I know."

"Hey, no, stop, I had a whole speech going on, you can't interrupt me and call me an _idiot_."

Jonathan laughs and he reaches for Steve, grabbing him by the waist. That feels right. That _is_ right. "Sorry, you're right. Continue, please. " Colour returns to his cheek and he looks about as bright as a million suns, thank God. 

Steve takes one of his hands, examining his long, lithe fingers before kissing a knuckle. "To be honest, that's all I got."

"Sounded pretty good to me," Nancy says, walking back in. She has a small, amused smile as wraps her arms around Steve's waist from behind. "I want you, too, you know." Steve knows she's not speaking to him, what with their whole moment back outside, but the comfort her arms provide and how happy he is for the two of them getting together, for _all_ of them, has him wanting to do a somersault he's probably not capable of. 

Jonathan grins and leans forward to tip her chin up. "No romantic speech for me?"

"I went out into the cold to grab our guy. I'll accept a kiss in thanks."

Jonathan chuckles and he dives over Steve's shoulder to kiss her. He could die like this. It'd be a perfect way to go: Nancy and Jonathan's soft, sweet kiss, her arms hugging him, his hands on Steve's waist.

Jonathan pulls away, his forehead slipping down to Nancy‘s as she makes a pleased noise. “You’re both freezing. Can I make you hot chocolate?”

Nancy and Steve curl up on Jonathan’s living room couch while he makes them a cup of hot chocolate. Nancy wordlessly drops her hands onto Steve’s knee, shooting him a smile. “I’m glad you came back inside.”

“Glad you went out to get me. Can I kiss you again?”

“What a gentleman,” she quips. She mutes her own laugh by kissing him, shuffling onto his lap.

Steve grunts in surprise at her firmness, how she presses up against him. But he’s not complaining. His hands frame her face while her legs wrap around his torso. _This_ is what he’s been waiting for.

He finally gets to see how soft her hair is and yes, it’s better than what he imagined.

“I don’t mean to break this up, but I have your hot chocolate.”

Their mouths break away, but Nancy remains in Steve’s lap, taking her drink in one hand and hooking her arm around Jonathan with the other.

“Marshmallows?” Steve asks, an eyebrow lifting. He lets his fingers linger on Jonathan's while accepting the mug.

Jonathan snorts, sitting to Steve's left. "Do I look like an amateur? Jane would kill me if I didn't include marshmallows, so it's a total reflex now."

"You scared of your fourteen year-old sister?" Nancy says, spreading her leg out onto Jonathan's lap. 

"No." He blushes at the contact, but rests his fingers on her ankle. "I think I just like her too much to not give her what she wants."

"Stop being cute," Steve says, "'cuz I'm going to want to kiss you."  

Jonathan tilts his head, wrinkling his nose in faux-contemplation. "Guess you're going to have to kiss me, then."

"How dare you two, I'm lactose intolerant, all this  _cheesiness_ is going to make me throw up." 

Steve pokes Nancy's side, relishing in her squeak of laughter. "Liar. You're not gonna throw up, you're not lactose intolerant. You like us and our banter, don't ya?"

"Like you, yes, like your banter? ...Yes."

Jonathan darts forward to kiss her neck and Steve showers her forehead in kisses. She squirms in between them, now wedged on both of their laps, giggling. Five minutes later, he and Nancy attack Jonathan with affection, and then Steve's drowned in a flurry of kisses until they all cuddle on the couch.

They manage to play it off as all of them falling asleep during a movie when Will and Jane get back home.

* * *

Looking at them in school, you couldn't tell much has changed. They all still make heart-eyes at each other. Still tease each other. Still smile like they're angels.

But Steve's heart has never been so warm, and he's never been so happy. 

Wednesday, during lunch, Nancy slaps a series of books onto their table. "So I've done some light reading."

"Light?" Steve and Jonathan incredulously repeat as she spreads it out in front of them. 

"Polyamory is—"

" _Shh!_ Do you want to announce it to everyone that we're—we're—" Steve struggles to find the word. 

"This is why I did the reading," she says with some satisfaction. "I mean, it wasn't pertinent to  _us,_ but it was interesting. Super interesting. It did make me want to ask what this is. Really, what you want it to be specifically and if we're all okay with it. We should talk."

"Maybe here isn't the best place to talk about it," Jonathan says, gesturing to the sea of people surrounding them. 

Nancy blushes, dumping her books back into her backpack. "Sorry. I got excited."

"Don't be," Jonathan says earnestly.

"You're like Siri," Steve adds, placing a steady hand on Nancy's back. "But with a personality."

"That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard." 

They pack their shit up and head over to the dark room, sitting knee to knee to knee on the floor with the door locked. 

"I want to be in a relationship. With the both of you," Nancy says.

"I'd like that too," Jonathan says.

"Ditto. Is this—I mean, is this our conversation? Is that it? 'Cuz we didn't need to leave and bring all of our things for a five-second conversation."

"Hold on," Nancy says, shifting out until she's sitting in front of them. "Are we, are we exclusive? Only between us three?"

Jonathan pulls at the sleeves of his sweater. "I'd like that, please. I don't—don't want anyone else."

"Me neither." Nancy intertwines her fingers with Jonathan's. "Steve?"

"You're it for me, the both of you," he says solemnly. He reaches out to hook his leg around Nancy's and lowers his head to kiss Jonathan's knuckle.

"Also," she continues, "we have to be  _honest_ with each other about our feelings, okay? If anyone's feeling left-out, or jealous, or needs things to slow down, or whatever. No one will be pressured to do  _anything_ they don't want to do. We can be real with each other. This is a no-judgement zone. Okay?"

Jonathan and Steve nod in agreement.

"And  _this._ " She gestures to their intwined hands. "Where are we on being public? I'm okay with it, but it's okay if you two aren't."

"I'd be good with us being us at school," Jonathan says, dropping his head onto Steve's shoulder. "Steve?"

He stiffens. "I _want_ to, but I don't think we could be public, not now, my dad would kill me if...you know. I'm sorry."

Jonathan's kissing his shoulder-blade and Nancy's arm is around his shoulder before he realizes it. 

"It's okay," Nancy says. 

"Don't be sorry," Jonathan breathes into Steve's neck. 

They stay quiet and still and soaked in each other for a few minutes. Steve feels utterly content. 

* * *

February and March are miracles. Honestly.

Thoughts of post-graduation don't faze him. They approach him, sometimes, but he's too busy with making props with the kids, with not-really productive study sessions with Nancy and Jonathan, dates, and actually  _doing_ schoolwork (without any of them, because gosh, are they distracting), there's no time for the anxiety to creep in and unsettle him. Because he's  _happy._

He's also tired, but in a good way. Late nights texting the both of them, or at Jonathan's house because his mom and dad are the best human beings alive who are the only ones they tell, or late afternoons with the kids take a lot out of him. But he likes it: at his very core, Steve is a social person. He likes being with other people.

It's funny, though. He always hated being alone. That's part of what made the end of last year so difficult for him, without Tommy, without parties. Part of what bothered him in his childhood because he never really had his mom around who was perfect when she  _was_ there. (Never had his father, but that wasn't a bad thing in his eyes.)  

But now, he takes joy in those quiet moments in the morning and the beautiful ones when the sun sets. Ones between him and the world and his headphones. He feels at peace with his thoughts and his own company. 

He's gotten better at not thinking about everything that waits for him, come fall. It's probably a bad thing. He  _should_ talk to his parents, say something, anything. But what? Refuse the plans that will no doubt guarantee him success and money? Tell them that he has no other plan in mind?

Really, he  _has_ to deal with it eventually, if not for his sake, then Jonathan and Nancy's. His dad wouldn't let him apply to any school within a three-hour radius: claims of  _you need to man up_ and  _stop being such a mother's boy_ were prevalent. A three to four hour drive isn't a big deal, but they'd be here, while he was there. Where did that leave them?

But their relationship is still this new thing. They're still exploring each other and their relationship. The future talk can wait.

* * *

"Ms. Byers, this is too good," Steve nearly moans.

"You're so gross, Steve, close your mouth," Nancy laughs, and he nearlymakes a comment about what the three of them did earlier in Jonathan's room, with the house to themselves, where  _her fingers_ have been, but resists. 

Ms. Byers only smiles, darting a pointed look at her children. "Someone who appreciates my cooking, hmm."

"Mom, I've told you I'd die for your cookies," Will says, "but  _Steve_ says it's too good, and suddenly you want him to be your new son."

"She likes me more."

"She made me."

"She didn't even make me, but I'm her favourite," Jane says, sticking her tongue out at Will.

"Ha, up-top, Janie!"

"I'm not on your side, Steve."

He catches Jonathan smiling in the corner of his eyes and Nancy good-naturedly rolling her eyes. 

"So," Hopper says, "you three get to a lot of studying earlier?"

Nancy nods, and it's the wideness of her smile that has Steve knowing she's about to say something interesting. "Human anatomy."

Jonathan coughs on his water. " _Wrong pipe._ "

"We're learning about human anatomy and did you know, that when you poop, oh wait, is this a bad—"

"Will, we're eating. I'll poop on you if you keep talking about poop."

"You just said poop! Jane, stop being a hypocrite, you poop—"

Hopper slowly grins. "Thought we established no  _potty_ talk at the table."

Everyone groans. "Thought we established no dad jokes either," Ms. Byers says, but she kisses his cheek anyway.

So  _this_ is what nice family dinners look like. Huh. Steve's been missing out.

"I'm sorry if—" Jonathan whispers from in between them, but he and Nancy cut him off.

"I love your house," Nancy says. 

"Invite us whenever," Steve continues. He means it.

* * *

"Your phone keeps vibrating."

"Let it. I don't care."

"What if it's an emergency?"

"My only priority is you right now, and taking care of  _that,_ " Steve says, smiling against Jonathan's neck. "You wan' me to stop?"

"Fuck no _,_ " Jonathan answers immediately, his hands giving another sharp pull of Steve's hair. He's pretty sure Jonathan likes his hair as much as he likes Steve. "But if that's your mom—"

Steve has to stop now. "Best way to kill the mood: mention my mom." He reaches over Jonathan's lap for his phone and eyes the numerous texts from his mother, indeed. Her coming home early, wanting to bake with him, and vague threats about how if he didn't reply, she'd make brownies without him. "Look at that,  _both_ of my partners know everything in the world. It was my mom." He leans in for a kiss.

Jonathan kisses him back, and there is absolutely no way Steve's going to leave now. "To be continued," he says, pulling apart so quickly that Steve whimpers. 

"You're lucky I like you so much. You can't imagine how unbearable this is for me."

"I think you can handle blue balls." 

"You think about my balls?"

Jonathan throws an eraser at him. "Go away," he says, smiling. "I need to finish some yearbook stuff anyway."

"Kay. Continue being the world's best photographer. Text me when you're home?"

"Mhm. You too."

He slings his backpack over his shoulder, sending a dopey, lovestruck look, getting Jonathan's crinkled eyes and half-smile in return.

Steve closes the door behind him on his way out. His face crumbles when he sees Tommy, clad in his basketball uniform and dripping with sweat.

Note that he's coming out of the darkroom, the room used by only Jonathan.

Note that his hair is ridiculously messy.

Note that his lips are red and raw.

Note that his fucking  _fly_ is open.

"I fucking knew it," Tommy seethes. "You left me to suck his  _dick!_ "

He makes a move for the door, but Steve steps in before he can. "Stop," he says with a tremor in his voice, "you need to calm the fuck down. You can't tell anyone."

"Why  _not?_ "

"I'm your best—"

"No, asshole, you  _were._ " 

Steve can't let Jonathan hear this conversation, he can't let Tommy get in his way or Jonathan's reaction to whatever he's about to say. He hauls him towards the changing room, which is thankfully only a few feet away. He couldn't handle carrying him while he thrashes and slaps his arm.

Steve shoves him in and closes the door, standing closely in front of it. "Okay, so I  _was_ your best friend. There has to be a part of you that still gives a shit."

Tommy's chin wobbles, but his shoulders straighten, arms crossed over his chest. "That part walked out as soon as you did. No, actually, when you  _punched_ me."

"You were being a dick!"

"We're always like that! And you didn't have to  _hit_ me over it. Couldn't you have fucking talked to me? And if I knew, if I knew you were gay, I wouldn't—"

Steve laughs sardonically. "That doesn't matter! I shouldn't have to have told you my sexuality for you to be a decent person, you dip-shit. That was my problem. I'm—I'm sorry, okay? I should've talked to you, before, after, sometime, but—do you see what I mean? You're not a good person! You can  _change,_ but right now, back in September, you weren't. Aren't. Whatever. I don't want to be that person. You don't have to be that person."

Tommy falters. His shoulders relax and his arms drop to his side. "You  _left_ me. Ten years doesn't mean shit to you? You wake up one day and I'm  _nothing?_ "

"Tommy," he says, sighing. "You're a dumbass if you think you mean nothing to me. You're not nothing, you never were, I just. I didn't know what to do. We don't  _talk_ about our feelings or our shit, do we? We never have." 

"Fair enough," he grunts. He sits down on a bench and Steve lumbers over, gingerly taking the space next to him. "So?  _Byers?_ " 

Steve can't help but smile. "Yeah. Byers."

"Shit. We didn't know if it was you and him, or you and Wheeler—"

"It's the both of them." Steve grins at the scandalized look on Tommy's face: his jaw hanging open, bewilderment in his wide eyes. "We're all together, him and her, too." 

Tommy stays quiet for a second, mulling this over. "Nice," he finally says. He raises his fist.

Steve stares at him, dumbfounded. But he bumps his fist anyway. " _Nice?_ I thought you hated Jonathan."

"I mean—okay, I thought he was a funny kid, and then I hated him 'cuz  _you_ suddenly liked him more than me, but, I mean.  _Two_ people. Wheeler's smoking, and I see the appeal for Byers."

"You totally had a thing for him!"

"No, what?  _No._ Shit, I have eyes. And I like Carol," Tommy says, voice softening at the iteration of her name.

Steve nudges him. "You two back together again? For like, the billionth time?"

Tommy sheepishly smiles and nods. "She kinda came to my house a couple weeks ago. Started shouting about how tired she was, how she wanted us with no bullshit. I, uh, told her I loved her. We've been good ever since."

"Shit. Aw, look who got in touch with their feelings."  

"Look who got a boyfriend  _and_ a girlfriend. Fuck. You also became a mom!"

"I—what?"

Tommy cackles. "You and your children," he says, "those drama geeks? I, uh, kinda saw you guys in the drama room, after practice a couple times. May or may not have made sure no one else on the team took that route after that."

Steve waits for the other shoe to drop. He carefully eyes Tommy, but he could never lie to him. Or at least, Steve always saw through his shit. "Thanks."

"I beat your face. Beat your boyfriend up. Said some other shit, too. Think of it as penance."

"I beat your face up, too." 

Tommy traces the outline of his face. "Yeah, but look at me. You clearly did no harm. You, on the other hand, ugh, what hap—is that a hickey?"

Steve grins again, fingers brushing over the recent bloom of marks on his neck. The one Tommy stares at is from Jonathan, one further down that bruise from Nancy. He yanks on the shirt a little too excitedly to show Tommy. What? He's  _proud._

He also wants to brag.

"They possessive, huh?" 

"Little bit. They like marking their territory, I guess. But, like, I'm into it, and they're not too much or anything. They're perfect."

"So Byers didn't do anything with Carol?"

"No, they really did just have a conversation about his photography. You didn't believe her? You've always been kinda jealous, insecure, I  _told_ you, you're a good guy. Well." It's meant to be joking, but Steve almost fears that he's ruined the easy chemistry they've slipped into.

But Tommy smiles almost ruefully. "What's that you said earlier? That I don't have to be that person? Maybe your thick head's onto something."

"My thick head is beautiful. Got me two people who agree."

"How does that work? Three people?"

"You mean, like, position wise? 'Cuz I don't think they'd be comfortable—"

"No, I mean. In general."

"Beats me. We've been making it up as we go along, lots of talking, though. I don't mind it. Why? You and Carol thinking about including someone? If you say Mark fucking Jackson, I swear—"

Tommy chuckles. "Nah. I'm interested. You've been pretty mysterious, I guess, since September. You seem like you're doing alright."

"I have been. Little better now, if I'm being honest."

"Look, I'm—"

" _I'm_ sorry, too, dip-shit, I should've talked—"

"I shouldn't have hit you—"

"Can I finish—"

"Fuck you, I started apologizing, let me finish. I just. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have bothered Byers in the first place. Definitely shouldn't have said all that shit, broken his camera. I should've asked what was wrong with  _you,_ too. You really weren't yourself and I should've let you talk—"

Steve cuts him off by wrapping his arms tightly around Tommy's chest. "Shut up." 

" _You_ shut up."

"We can't have a nice moment, can we?"

"You told me to shut up in the first place, Harrington!"

* * *

"What?" Nancy asks curtly, her eyes never leaving her laptop. One hand types away at her keyboard, the other in Steve's hair.

"What do you mean what? I'm only looking at you." 

"You look nervous." She pushes her laptop away and cups Steve's cheek, twisting him over her lap until his head faces her ceiling. "What is it?"

He beckons her closer and gently, chastely kisses the corner of her mouth. His eyes drop to the raven on her finger before meeting her gaze. "I made up with Tommy." He searches her face for an indication of anything: annoyance, anger, confusion, surprise. 

She schools her features into a neutral expression. "Is he still a piece of shit?"

"Maybe. I wanna find out. Is that okay with you? I'll ask Jonathan—"

"Ask me what?"

Steve cranes his head to Nancy's room door where his boyfriend stands, closing it behind him. "Can I kiss you first?"

"Say yes," Nancy mumbles. 

"Um, sure?" Jonathan slides onto his knees on Nancy's bed in front of them, bending down to briefly peck Steve's lips. "Steve?"

"I made up with Tommy." 

"Okay."

"Ok—what? Give me a reaction or something. What do you think? It's okay if you don't want me to, it's only that I really think he's changed, or that he will, and I haven't told him to but I  _know_ he'll apologize, oh, and he knows about us—"

" _WHAT!?_ "

Steve winces at the sharpness of their voices. He deserves that. He sits up straight, raising his head from Nancy's lap. "He saw me coming out of the darkroom yesterday after school, okay? And it was really obvious what we'd done."

Nancy narrows her eyes at the both of them. "Really? School property?"

"Nance, can I finish my story before you scold us, m'kay, thanks. We talked, and he said he wouldn't tell anyone, and it came out, and—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

Jonathan and Nancy steal a private glance, her resting a hand on his knee. "I'm just a little surprised," he admits. "But I'm not mad. I'd be okay if people knew, anyway."

"Me too," she continues. "Don't worry about that. About the other thing...look, Tommy technically hasn't done anything to me, and you can hangout with whoever. I won't tell you what to do, ever. Jonathan?"

"If you honestly believe he's changed, then so do I. I trust your judgement."

"I love your levels of maturity. Also, I invited him to lunch tomorrow!"

" _STEVE._ "

It doesn't go that badly. Nancy can't stop glaring at Tommy and Jonathan remains pensive, stoic in a way Steve's pretty sure scares the hell out of his best friend, the expression remaining after Tommy apologizes. But he makes a solid effort to engage in them both and even nabs a quirk of Nancy's lip, an amused lift of Jonathan's eyebrow when he cracks a (terrible) joke.

Later, when Nancy and Jonathan swing by after school during a drama club meeting, Steve rushes up to them like an excited puppy. "Tell me how lunch was. He wasn't that bad, right? He won't have to sit with us everyday, but—"

Nancy tiptoes to kiss his forehead. "He can stay," she says wryly. 

"We might have to head out to the darkroom once or twice a week, just to get some air, and give you two some time to yourselves, though. But I think that's fair."

"It is," he agrees, grinning widely. "And also, the sex on school property thing has gotten to ya, huh, Nance?"

She reddens. "Shut up, Steve."

"It totally has," Jonathan says, escaping the swat she aims for his arm.

* * *

Steve takes ten minutes to walk Nancy and Jonathan to Jonathan's car. He walks back into the drama room and it's completely different. A pretend balcony, copies of a Shakespeare play Steve can't make out the title of all across the floor, the light set-up finally used, controlled by Jane, and Dustin in a blonde wig.

"Um. The fuck?"

"Don't I make a good blonde?"

"I told you that you looked better in the brunette one!" Lucas says.

"Romeo, Romeo, stop being such a  _whore-_ eo!"

"I told you not to use that word, ass-fuck!" Max screams, adjusting a fake moustache on her upper lip. She effortlessly swirls a sword that Steve has to remind himself is fake. Probably.

"But it's okay if I'm calling Lucas that, right!"

"...I guess? Never-mind, feel free to call him a whore!"

"I didn't agree to this!"

"Stop _yelling!_ What is this?"

Will, beautiful, lovely, calm, and  _quiet_ Will steps out from behind the fake balcony, a copy of what's clearly _Romeo and Juliet_ in his hands. "Our drama teacher wanted us to do a modernized version of a Shakespeare play. And since we're  _geniuses,_ we chose this one since we're studying it in English class. Well. Jane did. No one would say no to her."

Jane flashes a light on top of Steve's head. "Fear is power."

"Okay, um. Okay, sure, let's do that." Steve claps his hands together and plops to the floor.

This is part of why drama club is great: free entertainment. The rap Mike does in place of the prologue is absolute art, for example. 

He sits through, laughing at an obnoxiously loud volume at all their jokes (which are pretty funny) so the kids know they're doing great. He also cheers out how great they're doing in between scenes and claps obnoxiously, even after they tell him to shut up. Their lines aren't fully memorized, but they have another two weeks until they perform the piece. It's funny, though, because Mike yells every time someone fumbles, except for with Will. 

"Hey, it's okay, these lines are difficult, here's your—"

"He's so not subtle," Max whispers into his ear. She sits next to Steve while waiting for her cue. "He told me his five year-old sister could have these lines done by now."

The gears in Steve's mind shift. "Mike has a cr—"

" _Shh!_ Why are you so loud? Look. You're not stupid. Not completely. You've got it all figured out. These idiots, they're all in love. See, just look."

"Lucas, stop touching Dustin's hair!" Mike shouts, holding his clipboard tight to his chest.

"What, I'm  _thirsting_ over my girl!"

"Stop stifling young love!" Dustin crosses his arms firmly, but laughs when Lucas pulls off what he calls the Romeo Pout. 

Will stands by Mike's side, raising a hand to his shoulder. "Hey, it's cool. They're getting into role. It'll look more believable when we perform, anyway."

"Yeah, you're right. How are you always right?"

Steve sits back. "Huh. You've blown my mind, Max. I'm glad I'm more subtle than these—why are you laughing at me?"

He should be laughing at  _her,_ with her moustache falling off her face. "You think you're subtle? Like we haven't seen you kiss Nancy and hold Jonathan's hand during our meetings? It's okay, we won't say anything. Promise. You're our babysitter!" She jabs the word  _Babysitter_ on his sweater, the same one they'd given him for Christmas. 

"And you're all my children, stupid and in love."

" _I'm_ not stupid and in love," Max defends.

A light flicks over them. "Aren't you, though?" Jane asks teasingly, rapidly switching it off.

Steve doesn't need any light to see Max's blush.

* * *

He should've known something was about to go wrong. April comes in violently, disrupting any security and ease he'd secured in the last two months. 

Steve waits until his door shuts to plant a kiss on Nancy, grabbing the collar of Jonathan's yellow shirt.

"Bedroom," Jonathan grunts into Steve's neck, his mouth leaving a wet trail on his skin.

"You're  _sure_ no one's home?" Nancy asks breathlessly, a hint of mischief in her eyes. 

"Yeah, Nance, I'm sure."

"As sure as you were that time we were late to fourth period because,  _come on, guys, the grocery store's only a five minute drive, we can get ice cream,_ and we were late to class?"

Steve whirls around with one of his hands up Nancy's skirt, remaining on her bare thigh. "Are you still mad about that? 'Cuz I can make it up to you."  He and Nancy exchange devilish grins and Jonathan's up against the wall in an instant.

"I will not, ah—okay, maybe I will forgive you," Jonathan gasps while Steve undoes his belt and Nancy nuzzles his collarbone. He would high-five Nancy, but she insisted he ruined the mood last time he tried.

Steve licks his lips and smooths the top of Jonathan's head. "I still wanna make it up to you," he murmurs, moving in for a kiss. 

" _Steve?_ "

Steve's hearing momentarily stops. The only thing he can hear is the thumping of his heart and the murderous ring to his name. 

His dad approaches them with his eyebrows pinched together. He slowly descends down the stairs. "What the fuck is going on?"

The three instantly step away, but there's no point, is there? "Why—" Is this his voice? Does he always sound so anxious, so squeaky? "Why're you home so early?"

"I can take a fucking half-day from my own company," he bites out. "You fucking piece of shit, you fa—"

" _No!_ " Nancy screams. There's too much going on for everything to hit him then, but he can follow what's happening. His father runs down the stairs, his hand raised and lunging for Steve. Nancy moves in between them, her fist raised and Jonathan yanks on Steve to move, out the door,  _c'mon, Steve, c'mon._

Once they're outside, they're safe. No way in hell anything can happen out in broad daylight. But they continue forward, Steve tripping to get into the passenger seat of Jonathan's car. "Drive, just drive!" He blurts out. He doesn't look back; he can't stand to see whatever look will be on his father's face.

"Steve," Nancy and Jonathan say, but he ignores them. One look at their pitying, sympathetic faces, and he's going to break down.

Jonathan takes them to his house. He parks in their narrow, empty driveway. "Steve," he says gently, placing his fingers tentatively on Steve's shoulder. "Come inside?"

"Yeah, um—um, okay. I can do that."

He doesn't need the help out of the car. His dad didn't get the chance to lay a finger on him. Nancy helps him out anyway. The house is still and silent as they shuffle onto the living room sofa.

 _Now_ it hits. Comes whirling like a truck—his father's face screwed up in anger, the word he didn't get the chance to complete, the fact that he was going to  _hit_ him  _again_ —so hard that Steve can't breathe. His throat constricts as sobs rack his body. 

"Steve," someone says. 

"C'mere." That must be Jonathan, because strong, coarse hands curl around him. He's never cried in front of them, and fuck, he feels pathetic. It's stupid, he deserves to cry, but there must be snot dripping down his face, must be this unflattering red in his eyes, must be an ungodly amount of saltwater rolling down his cheeks. 

But he dares lift his head and Nancy and Jonathan look at him and—it's not pity. It's not sympathy. 

It's something warmer. Something he can't name. But it reminds him of his mom, whenever he'd scrape his knee or get into a really bad fight with his dad and she'd scoop him up into his arms. She'd look at him like she was going to take care of him, not let his father bother him ever again. Like she was going to do her best to make it better.

(He wonders how she'd look at him now.)

"Baby, we've got you," Nancy croons into his hair. "We've got you."

"I'm so sorry," Steve chokes out, curling into their laps. "You shouldn't—shouldn't have had to see that."

Jonathan kisses his forehead. "Hey, no, don't apologize. He shouldn't have...don't be sorry."

"Tell us what we can do, please? Is there anything?"

"Just stay." It comes out clearer than he expected. He sniffles and breathes them in, and it steadies himself. "Stay."

* * *

Jonathan explains to Ms. Byers what happened when she gets home. 

He expects her to leave, let her son and Nancy hold him. The tears have stilled, but he keeps  _shaking._

He doesn't expect her to replace Jonathan's spot on the couch and take him into her arms. "I'm so sorry, Steve. You can stay here for as long as you want, okay?"

"Ms. Byers, it's okay, you don't...I can't pay for anything, I  _can't—_ "

"You don't need to think so far ahead, honey. Stay tonight. We can talk tomorrow."

He buries her head into his shoulder and accepts her comfort. Her shoulder's as steady a place to cry on as Jonathan's.

She makes him hot cocoa and doesn't say anything when Jonathan takes them all into their room. 

"I'll stay one night," Steve starts to say, "then—"

"You'll stay another," Jonathan finishes, curling up onto his right side. He carefully intertwines their fingers and Steve squeezes his hand. 

Steve's too tired to argue. Also too tired to act like he doesn't desperately crave the home they're offering.

Nancy takes his other side, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Stupid question, but are you okay? If you want to talk, you can."

"I didn't...I mean, he's said shit, you know? But I thought, okay,  _maybe,_ if he had to find out, he'd—he'd suddenly change. That was a stupid thing to think."

"No, it wasn't, Steve," he mumbles, "believing the best in people isn't stupid."

She strokes his hair. "Have you spoken with your mom yet?"

"She's going to agree with him or just. Let me leave. She's always been passive, ironic considering she's a lawyer, but—but whatever. Fuck.  _Fuck._ "  

On cue, his phone chimes from his back-pocket. It could be Tommy, maybe asking for one v one, but it's his mom. He swallows the bile rising in his throat.

Jonathan rubs his back. "You don't have to, but, maybe,  _maybe,_ she's calling to let you know she's okay? With you?"

"One of us can answer if you don't—"

"I can do it," he says more confidently than he feels. But maybe it's them, the immediate comfort he'll receive, their fingers on his skin, lips on his skin: better than liquid courage. He answers her call before he can change his mind. His voice breaks as he says, "Mom?"

"Steve, honey, come home, please. I'm going to fix everything, okay? You don't have to be scared. I  _love_ you. Come home."

* * *

"If that grimy old fuck tries anything, you say the word, and we'll come get you."

"Nance, I think I'll be okay. I mean, she said—my mom said she'd fix it and I believe her." Kind of, he doesn't add. He appreciates the murderous look in Nancy's eyes, but he also wants, needs a little, for her to be calm so he doesn't freak out.

Jonathan adds, "We're not leaving until you come here and tell us to. Okay? We're here, Steve. We're not leaving."

They don't wait in the car, joining them on his walk and stopping by the front porch.

Steve looks over his shoulder. Waits for his breathing to calm down. Smiles back at them.

Then walks in.

His mother and father shouting is the first thing he hears. He cringes and treks forward.

"He's not my son—"

"He is, you fucker, he _is,_ and he's still the same—"

"He's a disgrace, a fucking disgrace, Diana, how—"

"Don't you dare—Steven!"

He admires his mother's attempt at a smile, at acting like they weren't arguing about whether or not his _sexuality_ deemed him a member of this family. 

"Hi."

"You little—" His dad lunges forward again and Steve backs up, chin wobbling. _You promised,_ he wants to scream at his mother,  _you said I didn't have to be—_

He almost thinks the sound of glass breaking came from something smashing on his forehead. Glass shards are scattered on the floor, a bottle has been broken, but not by his father, not on him.

His mother holds the broken bottom of an alcohol bottle in her hands. Steve's never seen such lividness in her eyes, jaw clenched as she slowly raises the bottle. "Did you just try to fucking hit _my_ son?" Steve's heard her scream before, at him, his father, but not like this. Not like she's swallowed the fire of hell and is spitting it back out.

His dad blinks, staggering backwards, but he glares at her. "He's a Harrington, he's still technically my blo—"

She points the glass at him. "You don't  _hit_ your kids! You had a fist out! I'm so sick and tired, Steven is not your property, he is a living breathing child! And I'm not going to sit here and take this shit, you've been insulting him,  _me,_ for years, and I'm done! Steven, sweetheart, go pack a suitcase of your things. We're leaving."

Steve balks. "What?"

His dad lets out a shaky laugh. "Diana, you're being ridiculous. You're my wife."

"You're also my husband, and yet, how many fucking women have you—"

Oh, shit.  _Shit._ She's not taking it anymore. 

 _Finally_.

Steve sprints up the staircase, nearly tripping over himself not with anxiety, but anticipation. He still shakes, trying to find everything he might need. But he's too distraught with everything. 

Did his mom seriously just do that?

"I'm a lawyer, you know, how are you going to charge me with assault when  _you_ tried to attack your underaged son, oh my God—"

Yeah, she did.

He wheezes a little as he stumbles down the steps. Backpack slung over his shoulder and suitcase in his hand, he gulps when he reaches the bottom. "Mom?"

All the fury, all the hate, all the venom in her face drains immediately. "You ready, sweetheart?"

Steve softens. "Yeah."

"You two can't—"

She raises the broken bottle once more, stepping out of the kitchen and towards Steve with her eyes trained on his father. "We can. We are."

* * *

"Everything ok—what is in your mom's hand?" Jonathan steps back, eyes widening.

"Not for you. I'm okay. We're okay, just—can I put this in your trunk?"

"Wha—sure?"

Nancy and Jonathan remain notably quiet while Steve shoves his suitcase into the trunk of Jonathan's car.  

His mother heavily breathes in and out, warily examining them. "I've never met you before."

"Car first, introductions later."

Steve pops in the backseat with his mother, Nancy in the front. Jonathan starts the car and clears his throat. "Where to?"

"Uhh, mom?" 

"Your aunt Susan," she starts to say, and Steve's stomach is already in knots because of how  _empty_ her voice sounds, "she's out of town. The nearest motel is an hour and, and, Steve, I've forgotten my wallet, my purse, I'm not, not sure where we  _can_ stay, honey—"

Jonathan says quietly, "Ms. Harrington? My mom offered Steve to stay the night if he wanted, you're included in that invitation if you'd like. It'd be a pleasure having you over."

Steve sends Jonathan a grateful smile. He reaches out to rub a large hand up and down her back. "She's back from Italy tomorrow, right?"

"R—right. Is that, oh, I didn't catch your name." Her eyes shine, but remain devoid of any tears. Steve's thankful: he's not sure how hard he'd cry if he saw his mother do the same.

Jonathan twists his torso from the front seat, outstretching his hand. "I'm Jonathan, miss. Jonathan Byers."

She shakes his hand. "And you are?"

Nancy smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Nancy Wheeler," she says politely as Jonathan drives off. Steve doesn't think it's coincidental that the tightening in his body eases once his house is out of view.

* * *

The sky's already darkened by the time they reach Jonathan's house. 

His mom asks about fifteen times during the car ride if Jonathan is  _sure_ it's alright, if his parents truly won't mind, promising to give them money for the inconvenience. Jonathan blushes as he waves every offer down, insisting it's alright. 

Ms. Byers flings her arms around Steve as soon as he crosses the threshold into their house. "I'm so happy you're okay," she says into his shoulder. Then she pulls apart, smiling brightly at his mother. "You must be Steve's mother."

His mother earnestly shakes her hand, letting out a startled sound when she's pulled into a hug. But she relaxes into it. "Thank you  _so_ much. You have no idea—"

"Oh, it's okay, really, no problem. I get it. I'm Joyce, by the way."

Jonathan and Steve share a relieved look at their mother's interactions, then at—this. Steve's tingly all over and he doesn't believe it's real, that his mom really did that, that he's out of that house. That he's  _here,_ instead. That his mom stood up against him...for Steve.

"Shit," Nancy mumbles from next to him. "I told my mom I'd be home an hour ago. I've gotta go, okay? Miss. Harrington, it was lovely meeting you, despite—despite the circumstances. And  _you._ " She wastes no time. Hugs him fiercely and tightly, sturdy and strong arms around him. "It's going to work out. Jonathan and me are here, and I'm so happy your mom is, too." 

Steve squeezes her tighter. He brushes the back of his hand against her hair. Usually, he'd compliment her, tell her how much he likes her, how he's happy to have her in his life. But he's never been good with his words and whatever he'd say would downplay what he's feeling.

He instead gently strokes her cheek and kisses her forehead. He  _wants_ to kiss her, but this now's definitely not the best time to tell his mom about  _SteveJonathanNancy,_ even if she's already got the  _SteveJonathan_ part down. "Text me when you get home?" 

"'Course. I'll see you two tomorrow." Nancy smiles at Jonathan and kisses his cheek, hugs both their moms good-bye, and leaves.

"Let me make you some hot chocolate," Ms. Byers says. Right as they reach the end of the hall leading to the kitchen, she stops. "Steve, if you want to shower, clean up, you can. Jonathan'll show you where."

"Yes, baby, I know it's been—wait. You'll shower  _alone._ "

The tips of Steve's ear turn pink. "Mom!  _Why?_ "

"What? I mean, since you're ga—well, maybe not, I don't know, but since you're clearly dating Jonathan, what a  _lovely_ boy you have, Joyce, honestly, so polite—I need to be forthright! We have a lot of talking to do about our new rules and boundaries, Steven, and you will not have shower sex with—"

Steve groans, covering his hands with his face. "Mom, I won't have sex with him with you in the house."

"Gre—why did you phrase it like that? Have you—"

"I love you," Steve interrupts, wincing. He sees his mother's shoulders shake with laughter and walks up to her purposefully. He hugs her, realizing he hasn't done that today. Not after what she did. "I do."

"Honey, I know. I love you, too. We'll talk when you're done, okay?"

* * *

Jonathan offers them his bedroom when they're laid out across his bed twenty minutes later. He’s in one of his own shirts and Jonathan’s boxers because he, honest to God, forgot to pack any. Jonathan totally didn’t believe him, but he definitely doesn't seem to mind.

"You two need to talk privately, anyway," he says, trying to convince him once more to take up his bedroom.

"Only talk? Not sleep?"

"Yes! I'll convince you two to agree to sleep here after you're done."

Steve chuckles and uses the leg he has hooked around Jonathan's back to reel him closer. He leans in for a kiss.

Jonathan doesn't lean back, instead pressing his forehead against Steve's. "Are you okay?"

"Not entirely," he admits. "But I have my mom. She'll have her sister to lean on for, for whatever happens next, I guess. I also have you and Nance. I'm not homeless, at least, so there's that."

"But you're still upset?"

"I shouldn't be," he says, already hearing Jonathan's _you can be,_ quickly continuing, "but I am a little. He called me a disgrace. He said I wasn't his  _son._ " Steve stifles a sob, but his eyes well up with tears that Jonathan wipes away. 

"But you're your mom's son," Jonathan says, his breath warm against Steve, "and he doesn't deserve you, the wanna-be WWE fighter, beautiful hair, and beautiful-hearted, Steve Harrington."

Steve laughs wetly. "You remember that?"

"'Course I do. You're hard to forget."

"And you called my hair beautiful. I won't forget that."

"Nancy won't believe you."

"But I'll know in my heart it's true."

"Can I kiss you right now?" Jonathan asks. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah.” Steve drags his palm across Jonathan’s cheek “Yeah it is."

He can't help the stab of panic when the door opens and his mother stands there. He yanks himself away from Jonathan.

There's a hint of a smile on her mouth. "Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but Steven, I think it's time we talked."

* * *

Steve's impressed at his mother's composure. She starts by telling him that she loves him, always will, and is a fan of Jonathan. Then the word _divorce_ flies into the conversation and Steve's so relieved, that every detail drowns out. Finally.

"I called Aunt Susan and she said we can stay with her for as long as we need. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah. She's cool. She gave me my first sip of beer at my thirteenth."

"She did _what?_ "

"I'm kidding!" He's not.

"And Steve..." She stops fiddling with her hands. "Your father is garbage, you hear me? Garbage. His words don't mean anything. I can't, I can't _believe_ he was going to hit you. What kind of father hits their child?"

That's when Steve realizes. "You never knew?" He asks slowly.

He sees it dawn on her. Sees the gears in her mind shift, the crease of her eyebrows in confusion, the parting of her lips as a strangled sound chokes out of her. “Steve, what're you saying?"

"I just—I always assumed you knew. That wasn't the first attempt. He's—he's done it before. When I was younger."

Steve always hates seeing people cry, but it hurts even more seeing his mom burst into tears in front of him. She looks so fragile, so dainty, so  _human_. He sees the mortality in her and that's always unnerving; seeing your parents as not just your parent, but a real, living, breathing person with opinions and feelings and heartache. And there's heartache. So much heartache.

"You can't cry, because if you cry, I'll cry," he says, like he's not already crying, shrinking up as though he was a small boy again.

And she reaches for him, her arms steadying him, one hand cradling his face, the other draped over his back like he wasn't two feet taller than her. 

"I'm going to keep you safe," she promises into his hair, and he does feel safe right now, more than ever. "Like I should've already. But it'll be better. It's you and me, the two of us, and we'll be great. You're  _already_ great. Do you understand?"

Steve doesn't answer. He instead buries his face further into her neck and sniffles loudly, unashamed. He can't tell if she's crying because of him, because of what he's gone through, or the realization that she's walked away from the life she's built for the past twenty years. But then he supposes that part of what he's gone through is what she's dealt with, longer than he has. The neglect, the insults, existing in a house that's not a home—

Steve thinks his mother heals as she sobs with him in her arms. He thinks he heals, too.

* * *

The next few days are weird in a way that's neither fully good or bad. 

Tuesday, the day after it all, he skips school (is it really skipping if your mom approves?). He spends it as a lazy day with his mother. They make cookies out of gratitude for Joyce and Hopper. After the heaviness of last night, he's glad to have the day to themselves. Glad to have moments like when she pretends to wipe his nose clean of flour, instead dousing his face with melted chocolate. 

Aunt Susan arrives from Italy that day. She picks them up in the afternoon and takes them to her condo, one with two spare rooms. That night, Steve almost chooses to pretend to ignore the sobbing of his mother and his aunt's cooing from next door, but then he nearly trips over himself rushing to join them. 

He doesn't really notice his dad's absence. But he does notice how he feels much lighter.

Wednesday, after school, he's dicking around with Tommy at his house. A basketball passes between them. Tommy asks where he was yesterday and Steve spills everything. It occurs to him as he explains his current living situation that this is the first time he's ever really talked about his feelings with his best friend.

Tommy listens intently, face blank. He drops the basketball and rushes over to Steve, crushing him into a hug. "Your dad's always been a dick. I'm so sorry, man. But fuck him. Seriously."

"Yeah," he agrees, holding him just as tight. "Fuck him." 

Tommy visits Aunt Susan's place afterwards and gives his mom a long hug. He makes polite, non-awkward small talk with her, even prompting a laugh or two out of her. Steve always found it strange that  _Tommy_ was good with parents. Still. Nothing compares to that familiarity and warmth surging in his chest at the pleasant conversation they have together.

He gets his acceptances on Thursday, online. He finds out the morning of and there's a split second of  _holy shit, I did it. I got into all the schools I_ _wanted_ _to._ His grades have gone up since Nancy, but he's still surprised. 

It's only a split second. Then he remembers what he's been accepted for, a program in business, and his stomach sinks.

He's off the rest of the day. He goes back and forth between agonizing over the program, of hating the work, the reading, and the life that'll come with it. Then it's about leaving Hawkins, leaving his mom, Nancy and Jonathan, Tommy, even the  _kids_ and their ridiculously cute faces. This week really is the gift that keeps on giving, he thinks morosely.

It's a darkroom lunch day, so they're shooed up in a corner, passing cupcakes Jane made the prior night when Nancy asks, "Steve, you okay? Do you wanna talk? You seem...I don't expect you to be all sunshine and roses, of course, but you seem worse than before."

He licks his mouth. "Acceptances came in today."

They both perk up. "And?" Jonathan asks, voice careful.

"I got in. Everywhere."

"That's great! Isn't it?" Nancy presses a hand to his arm.

"I just," he starts to say, huffing, "I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave  _you,_ either of you, to study something I don't care about. But I can't stay, because what the fuck am I supposed to do here?"

"I mean," Jonathan says, carding his fingers through Steve's hair, "I'm guessing you only applied for business for your dad, right? The business and all?"

"Yeah?"

"That's...I mean, that expectation of his is out of the way. Your mom's not going to be as demanding as he is, right? Not her business or anything. She'll understand, if you tell her you don't want to do it."

"But that's the  _thing,_ " Steve stresses, feeling uselessly frustrated. 

Nancy tucks her head in the crook of his shoulder. "You don't know what you want?"

"A genius and a mind-reader? We struck gold, didn't we, Jonathan?"

"Sure did," Jonathan says softly, eyes sparkling when they glaze over Nancy. "But back to the other thing. You know, you could take a gap year."

Steve snorts. "And do what?"

"Anything," Nancy says. "Work, travel, pick up a class or two at Hawkins Community College. It's better than starting a business program when you don't want to."

He mulls it over, before bittersweetly smiling. "This is the first time we've talked about me after high school. If I  _do_ leave Hawkins after summer..." 

Nancy and Jonathan tense next to him. 

"You two will have each other, which is good, so you won't miss—"

" _Stop_ talking," Nancy says, sharper than he's ever heard her speak. "I don't want to hear the rest of that sentence."

Jonathan extends his arm over Steve's shoulder, his fingertips reaching out to gently cup Nancy's cheek. "This works better with the three of us. You know we'd feel your absence all the time. Who else is going to play stupid pop songs all the time? And have the audacity to play 'em in _my_ car?"

Steve rolls his eyes fondly and rests his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Could we even make it work?"

"Yes," Nancy breaks out, determinedly pulling Steve close to her, then Jonathan. "I mean. Do you want it to work, Steve?"

"Of course I do. I—I want to be yours for as long as you both will have me."

"Good," Jonathan says, "'cuz you're stuck with us forever, then."

"You guys have been so good to me. I mean, you always are, but I've needed you a lot this week and you've been there, so thank you."

They don't say anything, only nestle closer to him and each other. It's enough, he thinks. More than enough.

Friday, he sits with his mom at dinner. Aunt Susan's at work, manning a shift at the local hospital as a nurse. "Hey mom?"

"Yes, Steven?"

"I wanted to tell you something," he says, setting his spoon down next to his bowl of pho. "I figured, alright, I might as well tell you since it's too late for you to disown me, and it'd be super embarrassing if you did after you screamed at Dad how—"

"Honey," she barks out, releasing a startled laugh. "I'd  _never._ What is it? You're worrying me here." She places her hand over his with an inviting smile.

He doesn't need to be worried. Steve looks at his mother in her eyes, and fights every urge to look away. "I want to take a gap year."

"Okay."

"I looked it— _what?_  Okay? No,  _what about_ _your future, son?_ I had so many statistics, Nancy's going to be bummed—"

"Steve," she says firmly, reaching over to grab his hand. "A part of me has always known you didn't want to go into business, anyway. I thought it was the best choice, a future for you since you didn't know what you wanted it to be, something where I can ensure your success. You never said anything, so I assumed...but owning your dad's business is out. You obviously aren't interested in a career there. So that's okay. You can work here. Spend a year here with your boyfriend, and maybe the two of you can go off to school together come next fall. Time to yourself should be good for you. I support you, okay? And I'm so happy you feel comfortable telling me these things. Is that all?"

Steve glows. "What parent manual did you get all that from?"

She lightly hits his shoulder. "I got it from my heart. So we're okay? That's all you wanted to say?"

"Actually," he starts before his mind allows him to speak, "there is something else. You remember Nancy, right?"

"Of course I do. She seems lovely, so glad you've acquainted yourself with her, and Joyce told me about her grades, wow, that really does explain how much you've improved, and also, on that note, I'm so proud of you for—"

"Mom," he interrupts, laughing shakily, "can I tell you my thing first? You can compliment Nancy later. It's a really easy thing to do, there's so much—okay, no, I'm going to get derailed. I'm—we're—me, Jonathan, and her are all dating each other."

His mother remains silent, pensive. "The three of you? In a romantic relationship?"

"Yes."

"Her and Jonathan, too?"

"Yes."

"I'm—I'm very confused."

Steve smiles. "It's okay. I was, too. But we're happy. I really, really,  _really_ like them, and we have a good thing going on. Please say you understand? That you're okay with it?"

Her smile is shaky, but there. That's what he chooses to focus on. "Of course I am. They're good kids. You promise you're being safe?"

"Safe, sane, and consensual, like all the brochures you gave me when I turned twelve."

She squeezes his hand and sighs. "I'm glad, honestly. I thought it'd be something terrible from the way you sounded. Please tell me that's it. Don't tell me you've gone and adopted five kittens or something."

"I've adopted six kids, actually."

"You're not funny, Steven."

* * *

The kids have their last rehearsal before their big, Romeo and Juliet performance. Steve doesn't have much to do (when does he ever with them?), chilling in the back with a bag of popcorn that he'd only brought for this occasion as the kids hurriedly set up the blocking for the first scene.

A knock sounds from the door. "We'd like two front row-seats, please."

Steve jumps to his feet at the sound of Jonathan's voice. "Hey! What're you guys doing here?"

"I wanted to see my brother look like an idiot," Nancy says casually, walking hand-in-hand with Jonathan by her side.

Mike, looking very non-idiotic with his Hawaiian shirt, sharpied-in muscles on his arms, and name-tag _MER-KUSH,_ rolls his eyes. "Can we ban her? Can we?" 

"You're never getting rid of me, loser," Nancy says. 

"I will when you leave for college."

"I'll haunt you in your dreams."

Jonathan walks over to Jane and ruffles her hair. "Hey, buddy. Today's brownies were stellar, as usual."

"I know," Jane says, smiling and setting her copy of her script down next to the light board. 

"Jonathan, do I make a sick Benvolio or what?" Will says, rushing up to Jonathan.

"Is or what a valid option? Kidding," he teases, while Mike draws a fake-sword on Nancy.

Steve starts to intervene but Max whacks Mike's shoulder. "Hey, dumb-ass, we have our  _last_ rehearsal! Do you guys want to fail?"

"Yeah, Max, I do, I really want to fail drama, how'd you know?"

" _HEY,_ " Dustin screeches, standing up from the side of the room. "Stop shouting! I'll throw my wig at you!"

"That wig cost thirty dollars! You'll do no such thing," Lucas screeches.

Steve groans, deeply breathing in. "Everyone  _shut up_ and start your practice, already!" He's only partly surprised when they listen, and completely surprised when they go back to setting the scene up.

Jonathan and Nancy sit next to him on the floor, Nancy grabbing his popcorn bag. "I'm surprised none of your hair has fallen out from the stress of watching these demons," she says, fondly watching them.

"How d'ya know this isn't a toupee?"

Steve's seen the play about a million times. He's laughed at all of their jokes, can probably quote most of it back to you, and knows all of Jane's light and sound cues. Really, he's not being rude when he, Nancy, and Jonathan get distracted by each other.

Nancy started it, anyway.

The lights are all out on the stage-side of the room, and Steve'll pull away to laugh at a particularly funny joke that no matter how many times he hears, still makes him chuckle.

The first time, Nancy breaks away from him. "Is my tongue that hilarious?" She asks dryly.

"I was laughing at the kids!"

"Jonathan, would you laugh while kissing me?" 

"I might. I mean, your tongue  _is_ that hilarious," he deadpans, making her laugh into their kiss. 

Steve hums, watching their two figures in the dark before making himself of some use and ducking his head down to nuzzle Nancy's neck and reaching over to rest his fingers on Jonathan's thigh.

"Romeo, you idiot, you dumb, stupid—hey! What the  _fuck_ are you three doing?" Mike shrieks. 

A light shines over their heads. They hastily draw apart from each other, as if that changes what they were blatantly doing. 

"Um," Jonathan says, scratching his neck, "nothing?" 

"I  _knew_ it!" Will exclaims. "I saw Steve coming out of Jonathan's bedroom wearing his boxers last week!"

"Hey, I'd  _forgotten_ my boxers!"

"Did you really?" Nancy asks.

"Yes!"

"I've seen you two sneaking out of my sister's room  _together,_ " Mike says, managing to sound threatening despite wearing an over-the-top fake-beard. "How do you explain that?" 

"Fuck it, right?" Steve whispers to them. "We can just tell them?"

Dustin cries out, "Aha!" while ignoring the fact that his wig has slipped off his head. "I knew it!"

"I  _whispered_ that, how'd you hear me?"

"You're not quiet. Or subtle. You'd be the worst spy."

"Listen," Nancy says, "we're _all_ dating. None of you tell anyone.  _Mike,_ if you tell our parents, I'll kill you." 

"Dude, I've  _got_ you, I'm not a snake."

"You told them about that time Barbara stayed over!"

"Because  _you_ told them how Will stayed over!"

Lucas scoffs while re-adjusting Dustin's wig for him. "We won't tell anyone," he promises. "You guys are cool."

Steve's eyes shine. "You think I'm cool?"

"...I was talking about Jonathan and Nancy. But you're alright, too!"

* * *

His days pass by quickly and easily.

Exams creep up towards the end of May, but he's not worried. He's got the hang of this whole studying thing, thanks to Nancy. It's a little bittersweet, studying for his final high school exams. Who knew exams would make him feel sentimental?

Nancy and Jonathan are stressed. She has her heavier AP courses this semester, things that give Steve a headache whenever he skims a paragraph from her textbooks. Jonathan's finishing up the yearbook; he has other people in the club, but he runs everything and deals with last-minute submissions and photos coming in. Steve tries not to be overbearing, too much. He lays on their laps when they're at each other's places and  _tries_ to make them cookies that he knows won't beat Jane's for their study sessions.

Jonathan and Nancy are good, too. She compiles a list of terrible puns relating to Steve's courses to make him laugh and develops silly pictures of her and Steve for Jonathan, slipping them in his textbooks. Jonathan makes them each mix-tapes to study to. Steve gets distracted listening to them, because his mind drifts to Jonathan with each song, but he doesn't tell him that. He instead says they gave him this great focus he didn't have before. 

Tommy's absolutely useless. They try studying together, but get distracted, laughing too loudly and getting kicked out of the library. They try to make up for lost time: binge the Marvel films they missed seeing together the past few months and buying their outfits for prom. Steve learns that Tommy got accepted into the pre-med program of his dreams (dude has surprisingly high grades). Steve is admittedly anxious to tell Tommy that of his plans for a gap year, but his best friend of ten years claps his shoulder and tells him he thinks that's pretty fucking cool.

"You have any idea of what you want, though? You could volunteer and get some work experience in that area this year, depending on what you might be thinkin'," Tommy says on a drive back from the mall.

"Dunno, really," he says. "Actually. Maybe? You have to promise not to laugh."

"Dude! I won't laugh at you confessing your  _hopes_ and  _dreams,_ what makes your heart—hey, asshole, stop laughing at me!"

Steve laughs again. "Sorry, sorry, it's just that I can tell someone is  _super_ excited to go to study pre-med, which is great. But uhh, teaching's been looking pretty appealing to me. I dunno, I like working with kids, I guess? I could be a coach or something. Or a guidance counsellor. Wouldn't I be the  _best?_ "

"You'd be that, like, laidback teacher, who tells a joke that's actually funny, and also stupid puns, and kids would talk to you about stuff 'cuz you'd be approachable.  _Dude._ I could totally see you as a teacher."

Steve's heart swells. "You're not bullshitting me?"

"What? No. I'm serious. And that would  _totally_ piss your dad off, too!"

Steve and Tommy laugh so hard that Tommy nearly swerves into the next lane.

* * *

"You're both  _sure_ about it?"

"Steve," Nancy says, rolling her head onto Jonathan's shoulder. "For the millionth time, yes! Go spend prom with your best friend. Make some senior year memories. We'll take you to our prom next year, anyway."

"Um, I didn't say I was going to that," Jonathan says from next to her.

She bites a spot on his neck. "Oh, you will. I'm persuasive. I have my ways."

Steve joins them on Jonathan's sofa, sitting on Jonathan's other side. "We'll get you to come," he murmurs.

"That was a terrible innuendo," Jonathan says, his eyes crinkled with a laugh. 

"I thought it was clever! Nance?"

She hums, her nose brushing against Jonathan's cheek. "You've had better. But it wasn't  _that_ bad."

"Did Nancy tell you what we're doing the night of prom?" Jonathan asks wryly. 

"Ooh, this I'd like to hear."

She beams, propping her leg up onto both of their laps. "I'm convincing our boyfriend to fall in love with romance movies."

Steve snorts. "What d'ya mean convince? He cried at  _A Walk to Remember._ "

He gawks. "How do you know that?"

"Are you forgetting that I'm besties with your siblings?"

Nancy sits up straighter. " _Titanic?_ "

"He bawled."

" _The Notebook?_ "

"Like. A. Baby."

Jonathan buries his face into Steve's shoulder. "They told you that?"

"Uh-huh. I thought it was cute."

"It  _is,_ " Nancy insists, prying Jonathan's face out of Steve's shoulder and into her hands. "You'll still watch a rom-com with me, right?"

Jonathan visibly softens in her grasp, leaning into her touch. "I haven't seen  _Clueless,_ if you're feeling rom-com-y."

She kisses his nose in a non-verbal _yes_ while Steve says, "You haven't seen  _Clueless!?_ "

* * *

On the last day of drama club, Steve's as sad as he is grateful.

The kids ask him to sit down and close his eyes.

"If you shits throw— _argh!_ " Soft material is flung right into his face and he blinks, thrown off. He stares at the black fabric in his lap, turning it over.  _Drama Club, '17-18,_ the front reads, with his name underneath. "How'd you guys get merch? You're a club of six people." He looks up at all six of them standing in front of them, unable to keep the big, sappy smile off his face.

"Seven," Max corrects. "We've got some good news."

"Mr. Dalton-James is letting us join the senior team next year!" Dustin exclaims, clapping his hands together. "We'll actually  _perform._ On a real  _stage._ "

"With the red sweater worn by every senior member," Lucas says.

Steve raises the sweater up. "Then what's this?"

"We're totally excited to join the senior team, obviously," Will explains, dropping his backpack on the floor and rifling through. "But this year was special so we got these made for all of us." He pulls out another black hoodie, exactly the same as Steve's except for it being significantly smaller and with  _Will Byers_ on his. 

"Part of what made it so special was you," Jane says. "You've been cool."

"Mr. Dalton-James'll be fun, but not as fun as you," Mike insists. 

"We're going to miss you," Max says. Steve waits for her usual iteration of  _idiot_ to follow, but it doesn't. 

"You guys know I'll still be in Hawkins for another year, right? I'll still be here."

"You'll forget about us with your boyfriend  _and_ girlfriend, and all the travelling you'll get done, and your adult life," Dustin bemoans.

Steve laughs despite himself, holding the sweater close to his chest. "My adult life? Dude, I'm not going to suddenly understand taxes and mortgage rates. C'mon. We're still friends. You're going to invite me to all of your shows and the occasional practice, and I can be like,"  _don't say it, Harrington, once it's out, it's out—_ "your chauffeur or something. If you need a ride from school or to home or whatever."

He sees all of their eyes light up and he's struck with this intense feeling of joy. He's going to miss watching these shit-heads, sure, but he won't miss them: he won't have a reason to, not when he'll keep an eye on them as often as possible.

"And you can help us with our math homework!" Will exclaims.

"Yeah,  _no._ "

* * *

_Don't trip,_ Steve repeats to himself,  _don't fucking trip._

Graduation's one of those moments that seems more extravagant than it really is. Prom lived up to its hype for Steve. He spent the night with Tommy and Carol, then sneaking into Jonathan's place in the middle of the night and joining their movie-night as it delved into Jonathan's taste with  _2001: A Space Odyssey._ (He'd chuckled and crawled onto Nancy and Jonathan's laps in his wrinkled suit, saying, "Of  _course_ you're a slut for Kubrick".)

There isn't much to it, is there? Standing in a line with your peers, waiting for your name to be called, and trying not to make the last impression of being the idiot who tripped over the ridiculously long gown. 

But there is some magic. What with their gigantic gymnasium transformed, a podium sitting on their stage, bright decorations hung everywhere. Seats upon seats lined up, several rows empty with where the graduates had once sat, now having gone up as names started to be called. And of course, the diplomas ready to be handed out to the students draped in their gowns and caps. 

Furthermore, it was something he and Tommy looked forward to together. They would bring up over the years how cool it would be that they'd stand next to each other and be called right after each other during their graduation, since Tommy's last name was Harrison.  (Eighth grade graduation was ruined, thanks to that fucker Joel Harris. He'd gone to a different high school and would not ruin their high school graduation.) 

All he can think now is _finally._

Every quiz, test, project all brought him here, to his diploma. To the night where he could feel the pride bouncing off of parents and teachers, off of students themselves who were ready for whatever came next. Steve doesn't think  _ready_ accurately summates his feelings for whatever he'll be doing after this (his mother and him had precariously started talking about working, about giving him a few weeks at the beginning of summer to unwind), but  _peaceful_ kind of does. 

He can say that he doesn't know what he fully wants from his life without thorns of anxiety coiling around his ribcage anymore. All he feels is calm and sure of himself that he will, one day. He considers that a win.

"Dude, if you trip," Tommy says over his shoulder as they shuffle closer to the stage.

He hisses and cranes his head slightly to glare at his best friend. To think of where they were then, on the very first day of school, to where they were now—Steve's glad that that the year brought them here. "Don't  _jinx_ me! If I trip, you have to fall too. As my best friend, you have to embarrass yourself so I feel better."

"Of course.  _Of course._ "

His eyes search the crowd for his mom and aunt Susan, but he can't make anything out from the lights. Stupid school rule says that each graduate can only invite two people, so Jonathan and Nancy couldn't make it. But it was okay: they'd join him for a dinner with his mom and aunt afterwards. 

It's still a stupid fucking rule, though.

"—Tara Hall!"

Steve steps up onto the stage as the girl in front of them ushers forward. This is it. 

"We did it," Tommy says softly from behind him. 

"Steve Harrington!"

Steve turns around—what're they going to do, not give him his diploma? _—_ and bumps Tommy's fist. "We did," he says, grinning. He strides across the stage, across the streamers and decorations. His eyes meet the banner reading _CLASS OF 2018_ and he can make out the cheering, notably Tommy's loud shouting from behind him. 

"Congratulations, Mr. Harrington," his principal says.

Steve smiles, taking his diploma with one hand and shaking his hand with the other. He looks out in front of him and his eyes instantly find his mom and Aunt Susan. They both stand, cheering and beaming, their eyes twinkling with pride. 

Steve grins, eagerly waving at them. Gratitude swells his chest. He's lucky to have them. 

His eyes catch something and for a second, he thinks he's hallucinating. Security at their graduation, for whatever reason, was tight as hell. How the hell did they get in?

But they're there, by the doorframe. Jonathan and Nancy, applauding and smiling up at him. She holds up a sign, the words _STEVE HARRINGTON:_ _BEST STUDENT & WWE FIGHTER _etched in black, waving it wildly in front of him. 

The slight furrow of his eyebrows must convey his question, because Jonathan raises a camera, the school's camera, from around his neck and taps it. School photographer. Of course.

They both beam at him and he's beaming right back. For one second, one of the few he's up there on the stage, the only thing he sees, the only thing he hears, the only thing he _feels,_  is them. His love  _for_ them. 

Steve takes back what he thought earlier. As he shuffles down the steps and cheers obnoxiously at the sound of his best friend's name, mind still on Jonathan and Nancy, he decides that graduation maybe, just  _maybe_ has some of the extravagance he thought it'd have.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Two Months Later**

"Did you cry?"

"Did I—c'mon, Nance, I'm an  _adult._ "

"Not even," Jonathan snorts, "you turn eighteen next week."

"You bawled, didn't you?"

"Nancy, you and I both know that he did. If he cried at  _Coco,_ he cried saying bye to Tommy."

Nancy scoffs, rolling over on Jonathan's bed. " _You_ cried at  _Coco,_ too, nerd."

"I thought you didn't see!"

"We pretended to, so you wouldn't feel embarrassed," Steve admits. He hops off the bed and approaches Jonathan from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist. "I thought it was cute."

He can't see Jonathan's face as he rifles through his collection of personally-made CD's, but he knows he's rolling his eyes. "You think everything I do is cute."

"Because everything you do is cute," Nancy says, "but you know what's not cute? The two of you  _there,_ and not  _here._ We need to savour these moments! Senior year'll start, and my AP classes are going to try to kill me, and Jonathan started his company—"

"Is it a company if I'm literally just taking pictures of babies and dogs for money?"

"Yes," Steve and Nancy say.

"And  _you're_ going to be working," she says, nodding her chin at Steve.

"At a daycare. With children. For, like, five hours a day." Steve tugs on Jonathan's hand and drags him back to his bed, curling into Nancy's side. He kisses her forehead. "You're still stuck with me. Sorry."

Jonathan squeezes in on Steve's other side. "We're going to make time for each other. Senior year has nothing on us." He drapes an arm across Steve's torso, fingers reaching for Nancy's. "Besides, you shouldn't be worried about Steve's work busying him. It'll be all the time he spends with our siblings."

"Okay, okay, I ditch  _one_ date to take them to an amusement park, and you act as if I love them more than I love you—"

"You keep mentioning how I cry at movies, then we'll keep mentioning this," Jonathan says into Steve's chest. "We need to make fun of Nancy for something."

"No you don't. I'm hard to make fun of. You two are just so  _easy._ "

Steve scrunches his face up in pretend-contemplation. "Hmm...oh fuck. I can't think of anything."

"How about," she says, pressing her nose into Steve's neck and hooking her leg around Jonathan's waist, "I'm  _so_ stupid in love with the both of you, that it's ridiculous?"

"We're stupid in love with you  _too,_ nerd," Jonathan fondly remarks. "We can't make fun of you for something applicable to us."

"You also can't call me a nerd. Calling you a nerd is my thing. Nerd."

Steve wraps an arm around them both. "You're both nerds. Case closed." Before Nancy can fire back and call him a nerd, he says, "Senior year starts tomorrow. You nervous?"

"Nah," Jonathan says. "Just want it to be over."

"I already want next year to start," Nancy says. "It's going to be perfect."

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "It will be. You'll get into Colombia, easy-peasy, and be reunited with your  _bestie—_ " He pokes her stomach at the mention of Barb, earning a giggle. "Jonathan'll get into NYU, no doubt." He kisses the top of Jonathan's head. "I'll get into a school somewhere in New York. We'll have our stupidly over-priced apartment and get a dog."

"No," Nancy says.

"Cat?" He tries.

"I like cats," Jonathan murmurs. 

"You two can convince me in a year," she offers. 

"Sounds good to me," Steve says. "Until then, I'll follow you two around Hawkins like the love-struck fool that I am."

This is definitely not what he imagined himself doing a year ago: living with his aunt and mother, working at a  _daycare_ to test the waters and start looking for a field that excited him, running around town with six children and the girlfriend and boyfriend he loved with everything he had.

But he's happy, both with himself and his life, and especially so as he lays in between the two people wedged firmly and permanently in his heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey there! thanks for reading this monster of a one-shot. down below is a bunch of rambling about this fic so if you plan on skipping that then let me cut right through with: comments/kudos are greatly appreciated!!! leave me a long comment and my heart will burst w happiness ily
> 
> i've done summer, neighbours, and co-workers au, so naturally this was the next one on the bingo chart. i hope it delivered well! again, i have no idea how this got so long, i just had a lot i wanted to include. i swear, i did stuff on my vacation, lol. there's been a lot of driving and some days without wifi, and a last week out of my four where i chilled and finished the bulk of this fic.
> 
> also let me get two things out of the way:
> 
> 1) re steve's future. listen. teacher steve. /think/ about it. i know some of y'all might not agree, which is great! totally fine! i know the fandom consensus is Police Steve, which, dope, but like??? i couldn't find a way to put that here??? without monsters?? 
> 
> 2) re: tommy. LISTEN. i didn't mean to have them reconcile, but i figured steve's still going to care and realistically so, after such a strong friendship. i also would've been super annoyed if i didn't resolve that mess so yeah! tommy can change too! i didn't show it but! trust! me! 'cuz i said so. ik some of y'all might not agree with that choice either, but. but that's it lmao. i hope it's not too much of an outlandish choice for you and didn't spoil the rest of the story. 
> 
> and yeah that's it!! i had so much fun writing this y'all. it was really cool, writing someplace outside of home. kind of like a little memento of my time in sri lanka. it was also a little therapeutic since hey!! i, too, am a teen in hs who kinda flips out about having to know everything by 17 basically!!! i hope there was some reliability and that steve's ending gave some peace to y'all. no one knows what's going on, ever, and we're all figuring it out. you're not the only one lost here! 
> 
> puddingandpie, friend, i hope you liked it! <3 again, i hope you liked steve's portrayal and seeing these three idiots fall in love in a different universe all over again. they're so delightful, right?? like you *soldier boi tell em* (tell me to stop) i also hope that i gave you ten cavities from the Fluff :D
> 
> if u read all of this, i love u


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